Heir of the Founders
by dyingimmortal
Summary: AU; Harry accidentally travels back in time to the Founders' era when he's four. What happens when he gets back to his own time? Adopted from Amsuhl. Discontinued.
1. Prologue

_A/N: This story used to be **Amsuhl**'s, but she decided she didn't want it anymore, so she put it up for adoption, and it ended up with me. So I am taking over her fic and reposting the first thirty-nine… er, thirty-eight, I think… chapters and everything. I may edit them a bit to my liking. Rejoice, people. Rejoice._

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* * *

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The boy had unconsciously used magic and come back in time.

That much Rowena knew. But how much time? How far in the future? He had black, untamable hair—so much like her horse, Safa's—and his green eyes were closed. He was incredibly thin.

That was the first thing she had noticed. He was wearing strange clothes—but he would be, if he came from the future. There was a jagged scar on his head, not from a recent event.

The boy was about four.

Rowena jumped down from Safa. The boy had power. He was an elemental, too. That much she knew. She had already made up her mind. She gently propped the boy on Safa and told her to go back to Hogwarts.

Hogwarts was the small school they had been building—she, her sister Helga, and their brothers, Salazar and Godric. They would be able to expand the school, soon. They were earning money. The school seemed to be popular, despite the rather grotesque name Azar and Drick had dreamed up. Hogwarts. Really!

Rowena sighed, looking down again at the frail form of the boy.

* * *

Arasar looked at his mentors expectantly. Row, Azar, Drick, and Aunt Helga. Something about Aunt Helga's personality made Arasar call her "Auntie" and not Helga or Miss.

"Arasar," Row began speaking, pleasantly. She was a beautiful woman; her slightly curly black hair clung to her face in an extremely attractive way. "Sit."

Arasar sat. Arasar was thirteen and half years old, and though children his age usually started at Hogwarts when they were his age, he had started learning when he was six.

Rowena had found him in front of the lake when he was four. He was studying with the seventh years now.

"Yes, Row?" he asked, also in a pleasant tone. His hair, like many of his peers, was tied back loosely. He looked like a miniature captain of an army—Row felt proud of him.

They all grinned.

"It's like this, see," Azar began warmly. "We don't have children. We don't want to have any—preposterous idea, really—and we want you to be our heir."

Arasar blinked.

"Er, heir?" he asked, confused.

"Heir," Drick agreed happily. "You inherit our money and magic and so forth."

"Really?" asked Arasar, now looking (and feeling) slightly dizzy. "Your _magic_? But that's an awfully complicated spell, isn't it?"

They all laughed again.

"We know you won't try to murder us or anything to get hold of it more quickly," Azar explained cheerfully. Helga punched him in the ribcage. Azar yelped.

"You're a gifted boy," said Drick. "Yes, you're our Heir. But something else we have to tell you…" he trailed off, his face turning grave. "You came from the future."

Arasar nodded. He knew this.

"But…" Drick continued. "I think you need to go back to your own time. Your magic is already starting to wane, Arasar. You don't belong here."

Arasar's eyes widened.

"But—" he stammered, in a tragic tone of voice, "I can't—I like it here—I don't—"

"Don't fuss," said Helga, gently. "You know you've already started to have trouble with magic. We've noticed. So have you. You've practiced harder, trained harder, studied harder—but it doesn't work, Arasar. You have to go back."

Arasar's eyes started to grow damp, but he brushed the tears away.

"I—it's unavoidable, I suppose," he sighed, sounding resigned. He was good at sounding resigned. "How do I—it's—"

"The spell's finished, Arasar," Helga continued. "It's in the middle of the lake. The merpeople have agreed to help."

"When do I go?" asked Arasar.

"Next week," said Azar heavily. "But," he added, his tone brighter, "we have some things for you."

Arasar looked up from his hands.

"Yes?"

Azar grinned and handed him a leather book.

"We'll be able to talk to you from here," he explained. "The pages blank out again when the conversation is finished."

Arasar opened the book and stroked its smooth, empty pages.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"And—" Helga swallowed. "We'll probably be gone in your time. So that means you'll inherit our magic and our Gringotts account. Look for the key in the Room of Requirement—you know the password."

Arasar nodded. His throat seemed to be stuck. Helga continued speaking.

"You'll probably be overwhelmed by the magic at first." She handed him a locket. "A limiter."

"You'll need it," Azar spoke up. "But when you're in trouble or feeling tired—take it off."

Arasar grinned slightly. It was much better.

"Thank you, Row, Drick. Azar—Auntie—" He cut himself off.

"Use Legilimency to find out how much things have changed when you get there," Row suggested. "You'll have some trouble learning new things otherwise. Choose someone preferably powerful and intelligent to copy memories from. You'll not have much trouble. You're second only to Azar in Legilimency."

Arasar nodded awkwardly and pocketed the necklace.

"I'll—be missing you," he muttered, swallowing. And then he fled.

Arasar was bad at saying good-byes. When the time came for him to leave—it (the time) seemed to pass too fast—he rigidly hugged his mentors and walked to the middle of the lake, water turning into ice beneath his feet. But Azar, Drick, Row and Helga understood.

Arasar watched from the lake as things passed in extra-fast motion. Black figures seemed to run up and down the hill—but Arasar knew that these were students walking leisurely to and from the castle year after year. He saw the hill disappear, and a large ground appear, with three tall hoops on either side of it. He watched the castle grow bigger, the central tower disappear, things fly in the air, the scenery flickering rapidly—like flies on the edge of his vision. He was dizzy…

And then it suddenly stopped.

Arasar stumbled. About ten minutes had passed, but for all he knew, a thousand years could have gone by without him knowing. He wiped the tears from his face and walked towards the ground, water again turning into ice under his feet.

He felt the locket under his robe and lifted it. For a split second, he felt white-hot power flood him—and then it was gone as the locket touched his skin again. Another tear made its way down his face. They were dead.

At least he could talk to them through his book.

People were watching him. He looked at them as interestedly as they watched him. Someone shouted about getting the headmaster. He looked at the castle wonderingly. It was so large.

He sighed, a few feet away from the ground. He eyed the other people's clothes. They were strange looking, unlike his knee-length silver colored gray robe and the loose tunic he wore under it. None of them had swords. His hung from his black belt, sharp and ready for use. The boys' hairstyles were strange, too. They were too short.

They spoke strangely, but the words were intelligible, if Arasar concentrated. He would have stepped onto the ground, but the water kept people from attacking him—with questions or threats.

The crowds were dividing. Arasar looked at the approaching line of people. At the head of them was a tall, white haired man with something propped on his nose—half-circle things around his eyes—and a crooked nose. And long hair. Arasar felt a tinge of thankfulness. That hairstyle was familiar, at least.

The man stopped suddenly, a few meters away.

"Dear Merlin!" he murmured. "Harry Potter!"

Arasar looked at him strangely. The people around him started murmuring, too. Some looked at him with awe, surprise—some with loathing, like the greasy haired man behind the white haired man.

"Hello," Arasar greeted them. "My name is Arasar. Would you mind telling me what year it is?"


	2. Discoveries

"So _that's_ why we couldn't find you!" exclaimed the old man. "You were in another time."

Arasar managed to look bewildered.

"Can we talk about this somewhere else?" he asked apologetically. "I'm afraid I need to catch up a lot on the times."

"Of course," the man readily agreed. "I'm Albus Dumbledore. You're Harry Potter. You went missing a few years ago."

"I thought I might have," said Arasar uncomfortably. "Awfully sorry if I caused anyone inconvenience. Row was afraid of this."

The students were listening hard. By the looks of them, they didn't understand him so well. Arasar gave them an apologetic look as well.

"Follow me," Dumbledore ordered. Arasar obliged.

He gave the castle interested looks as he followed the man. Behind him, the other adults followed too, whispering furiously.

The castle had changed. There were new portraits. The staircases moved the same way, but that was about all that was similar to the Hogwarts he knew. The classrooms, corridors, hallways, and floors were all the same, but the decorations were different. Armors, artificially arranged into dramatic positions, stood on either side of the corridors. Students gaped at him.

Arasar kept his bewildered look as he glanced around.

"It's changed so much," he murmured. Dumbledore looked at him curiously and led him, at last, into the room that had been the room of Azar, Helga, Drick and Row…

Arasar looked around the room, too. Instruments and portraits. Yes, so many things had changed.

The other teachers filed in, and made a circle around him and the headmaster and the desk between them.

Arasar smiled uneasily at them.

"Er, what year is it?" he asked.

"1993, Harry," Dumbledore told him gently. "When did you come from?"

_Strange question,_ thought Arasar. Not _"where," but "when."_

"Um, sometime in 952, I think, sir," Arasar replied. "I think I have a great deal to learn again—please, can I ask you a favor? In private?"

Dumbledore nodded and dismissed the other adults with his hand. They reluctantly exited and started muttering; their sound was muffled as the door shut.

Arasar looked nervously at his hands.

"I—as I said, have to learn a great deal," Arasar began. "If you'll let me into your mind, I—if you allow me—will copy some of your knowledge—history and magic, things like that—and put them in my own mind—please, sir?"

He looked up again at Dumbledore, who was leaning forward eagerly.

"You can _do_ that?" he asked, his blue eyes sparkling with interest and curiosity.

"Yes, sir," said Arasar. "If you allow me, of course—"

"Yes, I will," Dumbledore agreed cheerfully. "Make sure you don't take anything else. Your mind will never be the same again..." he gave Arasar a Look.

Arasar grinned.

"Thank you, sir," he said in relief, and gently entered Dumbledore's mind.

He knew immediately that Dumbledore was a Legilimens. There were great white walls around his mind, but there was a small door in the middle of it. Arasar slid into it and eyed the room inside with awe.  
Most of the people he knew had very disorganized minds. Knowledge drifted around; memories floated everywhere. But here, everything was neatly stacked and labeled. Alphabetically, which Arasar had never thought was possible. The biggest box, which seemed to be the central one—the most important thought in Dumbledore's mind—was labeled in firm, proud letters: "LEMON DROPS."

Wondering what Lemon Drops were, Arasar chose "History," "Magic," and "Languages," and gently copied them and slid out of the door gently. It shut, and it melted into the wall as if it had never existed.

He came back to his physical form. Dumbledore was smiling.

"I removed the knowledge of the Dark Arts, Harry," he informed Arasar. "It would not be good to give that to you."

Arasar nodded cheerfully, not bothering to tell the man that Azar had taught him a lot about the Dark Arts. He was looking forward to opening the boxes that lay inside his mind, temporarily closed. He would open them when he was in bed. He thought about most things before he was about to sleep.

"Now." Dumbledore looked at Arasar. "952, eh?"

Arasar nodded.

"Perhaps you know the names of the people I lived with—Rowena, Helga, Salazar and Godric?" he asked pleasantly.

Dumbledore choked on the yellow ball he had been eating.

"You mean—Godric GRYFFINDOR? And Salazar Slytherin? Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff?"

Arasar looked at Dumbledore with some surprise.

"Those were their nicknames," he answered with some consternation. "How did you know?"

"The Four Founders," Dumbledore said in awe. "You must tell me about them!" he exclaimed.

"Er," Arasar began. "Azar has—had, that is"—he felt a lump in his throat—"Long black hair. Blue eyes. Tall. He's—was—nice."

"Salazar Slytherin. Nice," Dumbledore repeated, with some surprise. "Yes, go on."

"Well, Auntie Helga had blonde hair," Arasar continued. "And blue eyes, too. So had Drick."

"Godric?" asked Dumbledore.

"That's him," Arasar confirmed. A quill was writing away, next to Dumbledore. "Drick had brown hair. Row—Rowena, that is—she has black hair, too, and blue eyes. She was the one who looked most like Azar—"

"I seem to be missing something here," Dumbledore interrupted, frowning at him. "What do you mean, Rowena Ravenclaw looks like Salazar Slytherin?"

Arasar privately thought that it sounded very silly. "Rowena Ravenclaw." "Salazar Slytherin." Preposterous.

"They're all siblings, of course," Arasar explained. "Row and Azar are twins, and Helga is two years younger than them. Drick was the eldest, though he's their half brother; that's why his hair is brown, not blond or black—" He was having a hard time with keeping terms between past and present tenses, unable to accept that they were all dead in this time.

"They were siblings?" shouted Dumbledore in astonishment, his wise, ancient dignity forgotten. "They were _siblings_?"

"They were." Arasar nodded, confused at Dumbledore's amazement. "Didn't you know?"

"There is little known about the Founders," said Dumbledore gravely. "You'll be a great help in telling us about them. What were the names of their parents?"

"Um." Arasar thought a moment. "Drick's mother is called Ioroa. Their father was called Lazhonir, and Azar, Helga and Row's mother was named Sheyara."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Ah. How interesting. What were they like—the Founders?"

"Do you really call them the Founders?" asked Arasar. "What a silly name."

Dumbledore reluctantly departed—only temporarily, of course—from the subject of the Founders.

"Harry, my boy—"

"Arasar," Arasar corrected him.

"Oh, yes, Arasar—Would you attend Hogwarts? I'm sure the Founders have educated you decently, and the files in your mind will be more help than you can imagine—but you need to start to fit in…"

Dumbledore looked quite nervous as he said this, as if Arasar might think of refusing. Arasar, of course, had no intention of doing that.

"Of course," Arasar agreed. "If I'm not any hindrance—Hogwarts was always a home to me."

"Of course you won't be a hindrance!" exclaimed Dumbledore. "Thank you… I think, though, that I need to explain."

Arasar politely inclined his head. Dumbledore sighed and stood up and started to pace. The portraits, pretending to be sleeping, followed his troubled movements through slitted, narrowed eyes.

"When you were a year old, Arasar…"

* * *

Arasar left the room at a run. Whispers followed him and people gave him startled looks. Arasar whispered a sentence under his breath—the pass-sentence—and the wall turned into the door of the Room of Requirement a split second before he barreled into the said room, hurriedly took out his leather book and quill, and scribbled a heartfelt "Azar? Drick? Auntie Helga? Row?"

There was an answer immediately.

_Arasar?  
_  
**All of you, you really won't believe what happened…**

There was a pause.

_Arasar, I'm busy with a class, and so are Drick and Azar. You'll need to talk to Row, love.  
_  
**Oh. Sure.**

Then there appeared a sentence in blue ink.

_Arasar. Is everything all right?_

**Oh, Row…**

_Arasar? What's wrong?_

**Well, it turns out that I'm famous in this world…**

There was another brief pause, and then Row's handwriting slanted and grew slightly messy.

_Famous? Like a celebrity, you mean?_

**Exactly. There was this evil dark lord, and I somehow killed him when—when I was a baby. It turns out I was sent to my relatives, and it was from there, I came to you.**

_And I'm so glad you did, Arasar. But that doesn't seem too bad, what else is wrong?_

**He came back two years ago and there was a prophecy that said I was the one to get rid of him.**

_WHAT?_

**Exactly! That isn't fair! Why me? Why? Why did I come back here? I want to go back, Row, and badly—**

_Well you can't. We'll give you advice and things and you'll have no trouble—not much, anyway. Especially with your new powers. When are you, anyway?_

There it was, the "when" again. Not "where." It was so strange… Arasar quickly wrote back

**1993.**

_Wow. What's it like, in the future?_

**Well, Hogwarts is the best wizarding school in the world. It's really big, but the Central Tower's gone.**

_Ah. Pity. Helga will be angry; she spent a load of time on that place._

**Nice for stargazing, too.**

_Mm-hmm._

**I think I feel better now, Row.**

_Oh, and who were your parents?_

**Um, some people called Lily and James Potter. They died before I defeated the Dark Lord. His name is Valimurk—or was it Boldemurd?—I can't remember. I wasn't paying much attention. Didn't want to, I suppose.**

_I sympathize. Write again soon._

**I will. Every day. Give the others my love.**

_I will._

Arasar put down the quill with a sigh, feeling much better. The Headmaster had said that he would be joining the other third years the next day. Arasar waved his hand—it was good to have his original magic back—and a bed appeared. Arasar, with another sigh, turned out the light and started to gently open the files in his mind.

The sheer amount of knowledge the Headmaster possessed astounded him. He carefully spent the next two hours merging Dumbledore's knowledge with his own. By the end of those two hours, he was probably the most powerful (or at the least, knowledgeable) wizard in the world.

Arasar yawned. Moonlight trickled into the room, although it was artificial. The Room of Requirement was in the middle of Hogwarts, and it had no windows. It was reassuring, still, to watch the bright stars cloud his vision before he fell asleep…


	3. Morning

He awoke at six, as usual. For a moment, to make sure it wasn't a dream, he lifted the lump in his shirt away from his skin. The peculiar feeling of magic—pure, powerful, energetic, and seemingly endless magic—made him feel dizzy, like he was soaring up in the skies, like he could do anything. Anything.

Arasar examined his memories again and touched his knee-length cloak, and the material rippled and grew longer. The sleeves grew longer, too, and the hole his wrists went through grew smaller. He disillusioned his sword and sheath and tied his hair back more tightly.

From there, he washed his face and carefully put on his clothes, wary of putting them on the wrong way. The other boys had short hair, but Arasar liked his long, waist-length hair and he was going to keep it that way. Row had always liked it, and so had Azar and Drick, though Helga had always said that he should cut it. Arasar had always adamantly disagreed.

He looked in the mirror. He looked strange in his new clothes. His slender face—Azar had always said, admiringly, that the shape of his face was elegant—was, at least, a familiar sight. His green eyes, fringed by long, delicate-looking black lashes, made him look like a girl. Arasar had given up trying to fix them when they only kept growing back, and one day they had grown so long that it had been almost impossible to open his eyes.

His thin face looked even thinner when compared next to his hair. Thick, black and untamable. Like Rahon's. Rahon, his horse. Not really officially his, but Rahon had always liked him better than anyone else. He securely hid the silver and gold locket in his black and blue striped shirt.

He looked at himself again and shrugged.

He walked down to the Great Hall, looking amazedly at the changes in Hogwarts. No one was there. It was still only about six-fifteen in the morning, after all.

Arasar stopped himself from going in, his hand an inch away from the doorknob. He ran out and to the old stables, if only to see a small sign that Rahon had been there—the deep scratch in the door when Rahon had had a tantrum, when there was a storm, the nick in the ceiling when Rahon, when he was still untamable and unrideable, had made when rearing angrily, the cloth Arasar had tied around the knob—anything.

The stables weren't there.

Arasar stopped, feeling down. There was only a wooden cabin where the stables had been.

Arasar sighed, disappointed and looked at the woods. Not woods, now. The place had become a massive forest, and it crackled with magic. By the looks of it, Helga, with her Herbology skills, had planted many magical plants there. Arasar sensed many lives in it, intelligent, plain and brutish, scuttling and creeping, flying and crawling, swimming and galloping.

He sighed again.

"Fascinating, eh?" a deep voice boomed. "Beautiful place, the forest."

Arasar didn't care whom he was talking to.

"Yes," he agreed wistfully. "It's wonderful. So many people living in it. I wish…"

He turned around.

The man he'd been talking to was huge. That was the first thing Arasar noticed. Nine feet tall and gazing at the Forest wistfully, too. He must have been taller than half the plants in the Forest.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, looking at Arasar after a few seconds. "Harry! Heard yeh came back—from the Founders' time, even more astoundingly enough. I'm Rubeus Hagrid. I used to know yer parents."

"I did," Arasar confirmed, ignoring the last part about his parents. "It's been a long time. Can you give me a tour?"

"Can't do that," Hagrid answered regretfully. "The Forbidden Forest is off-limits."

Arasar snorted.

"Most things aren't dangerous," he scoffed in a scornful tone of voice, "if you treat them respectfully enough."

"True!" Hagrid agree with a vehement nod of his head. "Do you want some tea?"

"Yes, please," said Arasar.

They went into the cabin. Arasar quickly found out that Hagrid adored magical creatures—particularly dangerous ones. Arasar lost no time in telling Hagrid about the rogue manticore that had somehow found itself in Hogwarts. They were discussing the finer details of the manticore's teeth when Dumbledore's amused voice broke into their conversation.

"Arasar, you need to come in. Your Sorting's about to start."

Arasar regretfully told Hagrid that he would drop in later and followed Dumbledore, examining the files in his head.

"They made a Sorting Hat?" Arasar exclaimed, halfway to the castle. "I bet Azar came up with that idea. He always had a sense of humor."

"Salazar Slytherin had a sense of humor?" asked Dumbledore curiously. "Slytherin was stereotyped as someone like Severus, curiously enough…"

"Severus?" asked Arasar, but Dumbledore merely gave him an amused look and pushed him into the Great Hall.

Everyone was staring. Arasar gave them the vague, amiable look Helga always had on when a student was misbehaving—usually, the student in question was him—and marched to the Hat and put it on.

Godric's voice resonated in his head, sounding nasal and sarcastic.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here—wait, _Arasar_?!"

_Ha. So it was _you _who came up with the idea of a talking hat?_

"Azar, really."

The voice sounded tired.

"We had a bit of a fight and Azar went away for a while—you know, like how he does when he sulks—"

_I know._

"Yes. But he never came back. It wasn't even a serious fight, you know."

_Ye-es…_

"He died. A bandit in the night. He didn't even have a chance."

_I'm sorry about that._

"Yes. You still have that journal?"

_Yes!_

"Oh, good. Do come to talk to me. Sometimes I regret trapping a part of my consciousness inside my hat. Bothersome. Boring. I have to make a new song to sing every year."

Arasar mentally sniggered. Drick was bad, _very_ bad, at poetry.

_Oh. What's the typical song you sing?_

"Godric Gryffindor was the greatest, cleverest, most powerful wizard in the wo-orld… He deserves to be praised! Yoo-hoo!"

Arasar sniggered again.

_Aren't you supposed to sort me?_

"Oh, yes. Forgot about that. Why don't you go to Gryffindor?"

Arasar made a face under the hat.

_The colors are too girly._

"Hey! I resent that comment."

_Yes, I'm sure you do. In fact, the colors I like best are green and silver, or blue and bronze._

"Not Helga's? Helga won't be pleased."

_Too bad. But I was never much of a puffer._

"True. You can go to Ravenclaw if you want. Slytherin—well, you and I know that Slytherins aren't bad—quite the opposite, in fact, but through the ages, Slytherin seems to have gathered a bad reputation. Dark magic users usually come through Slytherin."

_But that's just because most megalomaniacs are ambitious._

"Yes! But no one will listen."

Arasar sighed again.

"But," continued Drick's voice, "I am the great and mighty Sorting Hat. And I don't care if you think that the colors are stupid, because you go straight into GRYFFINDOR!"

"DRICK!" Arasar yelled. "I'll GET YOU FOR THIS!" He whipped off the hat. Everyone was staring at him. Arasar felt his pale face color.

"Wait till I get my hands on him," he said viciously, before sitting at the Gryffindor table.

Everyone was still staring at him. A redheaded boy offered his hand to Arasar.

"I'm Ronald Weasley," he introduced himself nervously. "You're really Harry Potter?"

"That I am," Arasar confirmed. "But call me Arasar. That's what they used to call me."

"Is it really true that you came from the time of the Founders?" a bushy-haired girl practically squealed.

"Er. Time of the Founders?" asked Arasar, nonplussed. "Huh, that's modern to me. Yes, I suppose I did."

"What was…" Ronald lowered his voice as if he was about to utter a powerfully evil name. "Salazar Slytherin like?"

"Azar?" asked Arasar, not yet used to everyone calling Azar "Salazar Slytherin." "He's nice. Why?"

Ron's eyes widened.

"Slytherin was_ nice_?" he demanded, sounding indignant. "Tell us about everything!"

Arasar laughed. Everyone was listening closely.

"They called me Arasar," he began. "They didn't know about me, you see. But they did know that I came from the future. Azar… Azar is pretty handsome. Black hair and blue eyes. Tanned. He likes dragons. He's good at everything, and he's the one who taught me wandless magic."

"You can do wandless magic?" the bushy-haired girl demanded excitedly. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," she added.

"Yes," Arasar agreed with some surprise. "Of course! Can't people…" A piece of information surfaced in his mind, from Dumbledore's files. "Oh. I see. Well, we could. In… my time."

"You sound awfully old when you say that," another redhead commented, a girl this time, who blushed cherry red when Arasar looked at her. "I'm Ginny Weasley," she put in, blushing even harder.

"Nice to meet you." Arasar nodded his head politely.

"So…" a black boy started to say. "I'm Dean Thomas. You want to be called Arasar?"

"It's my name," said Arasar defensively. "I like it. It's a great deal better sounding than 'Harry'," he added, in a tone akin to disgust. Some people laughed.

"Rasar?" someone else asked, trying out nicknames. "Sar? Azar?"

"Not Azar," Arasar disagreed immediately. "I called Salazar 'Azar'."

"Was Slytherin… nice?" someone else questioned, sounding very puzzled.

"Yes!" Arasar nodded his head again adamantly. "Azar was nice. Very nice."

"I heard…" someone else whispered, lowering their voice, "that he was a Parselmouth."

Arasar gave the person a puzzled look before another thought surfaced. "Parselmouth" was a word for someone who could speak to snakes.

Arasar blinked.

"Oh, yes. Azar could speak to dragons," Arasar explained. "I never heard him talking to a snake, though. Drick—that's Godric Gryffindor, as you call him—said that having a dragon as his house emblem was too fancy and hard on everyone else—Drick said that _they _wanted magical animals for their symbols, too but they showed some restraint, at least—so Azar put up the snake, instead." Another piece of memory surfaced. "Snakes didn't have a bad reputation back then."

This caused another murmur of interest from everyone.

"And what was… Gryffindor like?

Arasar grinned faintly.

"Drick was sarcastic," he told them. "Very sarcastic, especially when he was angry. He had a sense of humor, though."

"Was he brave?" someone else asked. Arasar gave them all a shocked look.

"Drick?" he asked, astonished. "_Brave_? Drick, _brave_?"

At once, another piece of information surfaced. "Oh. Gryffindor traits are bravery and courage—aren't they? I wonder why. Azar was always the brave one. He killed the manticore that stormed Hogwarts. Chopped off its head."

"Well," Hermione offered dubiously, "I think that they both craved to be something they weren't. Since Slytherin wanted to be like Gryffindor, he chose cunning as his house trait. Since Gryffindor wanted to be like Slytherin, he chose bravery… It makes sense, actually, in a twisted sort of way."

"Oh, that's it, really," Arasar agreed. "They were brothers, you know."

This caused a dead silence.

"Gryffindor and Slytherin were_ brothers_?" two other redheads sputtered. "This is impossible," one of them put in.

"Preposterous," agreed the other.

"Absolutely ridiculous."

"Delusional."

"Lunacy!"

"Very," they concluded, ignoring amused looks from everyone else around them.

"Half-brothers," Arasar amended. "Drick was their half brother, and Azar, Row, and Helga all had the same parents."

This caused another uproar. Arasar snorted.

"You mean those idiots didn't even leave a record of their lives?" he asked. "How stupid!"

"Yes, but _you _can tell us," Ron replied excitedly.

"I suppose I can…" Arasar admitted. He did not feel like talking about them, though. They were dead. Dead. Though he could talk to them, he felt stifled, deadened without the familiar, reassuring feel of them in Hogwarts, whether teaching, shouting, laughing or rushing about...

"What made them name you Arasar?" asked Ron.

"Er…" Arasar was startled out of his thoughts and paused a moment before answering. "Oh, the same reason your parents named you Ron."

There were several laughs at this.

"Anyway." Arasar changed the subject. "What's the next class?"

"Defense Against Dark Arts," Hermione stated immediately. "Professor Lupin's teaching. He's nice."

Another memory surfaced. Remus Lupin. Sirius Black. James Potter. Peter Pettigrew. Pranksters at Hogwarts, pranksters supreme, good friends, best friends, betrayed, Azkaban, escaped, Remus Lupin, friend of his father—

Arasar pulled himself, with an effort, out of the vortex of whirling memories, words and faces.

"Remus Lupin, by any chance?" he heard himself asking, a distance away.

"Yeah. Where did you find that out?" asked Ron.

"Oh… never mind that." Arasar looked at the teacher piercingly. Yes, there he was. A tired looking man, who quickly looked away when he noticed Arasar's burning green fire gaze. A bit older than the memories—but he was Remus Lupin. His fa—no, _James Potter's_ friend.

Arasar looked at his spoon. Gold, now. How expensive. Only a day ago, he had been eating from worn wooden bowls with a plain wooden spoon… drinking water from wooden cups, taking a bite of browned toast… Here, it was…

Extremely… overboard.

Arasar sighed softly. He wished Rahon were here… When he had been upset he had gone to the stables and they had flown—really flown. Rahon had unicorn blood in him, as well as thestral. Rahon was not just a horse, he was a magical horse, and that made him…

So special.

"Oh!" Ron exclaimed. "You play Quidditch?"

Another piece of knowledge. Quidditch… the field… three hoops, four balls, a team, seven players…

"Yes," Arasar finally responded a few seconds later, after securely memorizing the facts. "Yes, I do." He felt rather confident about that. Dumbledore's memories were pleasant. People flying, and it looked fascinating. It could be no more different or difficult than riding Rahon.

"But Quidditch didn't exist, then, did it?" Hermione questioned, looking puzzled.

Arasar merely gave her a blank look.

Five minutes later, the food simply disappeared. Arasar gave the table a startled look and leapt up when everyone else did.

"It's Defense, now," Ron told him, and Arasar strode confidently through the crowd, which parted willingly enough for him. Arasar gave them a frankly bewildered look—in his day, killing a Dark Lord wouldn't have warranted so much attention—and he decided that this time was extremely boring, and there was little excitement. Arasar shrugged to himself and followed Ron down the corridors.


	4. First Class

_After I got, like, a hundred thousand reviews and messages asking me to continue, I decided I might as well repost everything that Amsuhl had already written (it's been edited a little), and who knows, after rereading and editing the whole story thus far I might decided I actually like it a lot and continue it…_

_

* * *

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The Defense classroom, it turned out, was Helga's old room. Arasar stared at the familiar, and yet unfamiliar, decorations in some consternation.

He sat down gingerly in a chair. A chair with four legs. How quaint. (1)

The teacher entered soon enough. Arasar eyed him with interest.

Now that he was closer, Arasar could distinctly see the dark circles under the man's eyes. This wouldn't have bothered him, but for the fact that there was something… strange about the man.

Arasar tried to figure out what it was. A feeling and a scent, sort of. A wild sort of feeling. Untamed. The same feeling Rahon gave him, sometimes, only… this was ferocious.

Savage. And there was something else…

"Today," Lupin began, "we will finally,"—here he gave an excited looking Hermione an amused glance—"have a practical lesson."

"I thought he'd never get around to it!" whispered Ron excitedly to Arasar. "He's always been going on about how we need to learn the theory before practicing—stupid, really."

"A boggart," said Lupin, smiling. "I finally managed to find one; it's in the staffroom right now."

Arasar raised an eyebrow. A boggart? Or a boghaert?

Yes. Dumbledore's memories surfaced again. A 'boggart' turned into a person's worst fears. It must be a modernized word for boghaert.

Arasar's thoughts went back to the man's strangeness. Yes, there was the wild feeling. But there was another something…

Arasar shrugged slightly and leapt up gracefully and followed the other students. Ron was suddenly looking green; someone—a girl called Lavender Brown—explained, with a great deal of giggling, that Ron's worst fear was spiders. Arasar sputtered at that. Fancy being afraid of spiders!

Arasar, as he walked, loosened the cord that held his hair, and shook his head. A blond haired boy next to him gave a look—a strange look: disdain, awe and anger, all at once—and moved away, muttering. Arasar tied his hair more tightly.

He was still carefully twining the cord when they reached the staffroom. Arasar stared at it. This was new—he'd never come here before.

Lupin ignored the man—the greasy haired one that had glared at Arasar when he had first arrived—who was scribbling on a piece of paper, and started to close the door. The man slammed his quill down—not that it was that dramatic, mind you—and sneered at Lupin.

"Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this," he said darkly, scowling, and strode to the door. He turned back at the last moment.

"You'd better be careful, Lupin," he said. "If Potter is anything like his father, he'll be crying on the floor as soon as he meets his greatest fear. Probably a worm." he sneered at them one last time before he banged the door behind him.

Everyone was looking at him, except Lupin, who was glaring at the door, fists clenched. Arasar looked at him with mild surprise.

"Aren't we about to face a boggart, Professor?" he said, surprising himself. His accented voice—modern speak still didn't come easily to him, even after copying Dumbledore's Language files—was clear and rang in the silent room. "Or do we need a substitute?"

Lupin turned to face him, smiling weakly.

"Oh—sorry," he said, apologetically. "Severus and I have bad history. Right, who can tell me about boggarts?"

Arasar half-raised his hand. Hermione's arm leapt up instantly, on the other hand.

Lupin raised an eyebrown and pointed at Arasar.

"Mr Potter," he said, pleasantly. Arasar blinked.

"Oh, er," he corrected, "I'm not used to being called that. Not Potter, please. That's not quite my name, I'm afraid—boggarts take the form of your worst fear."

"Correct," Lupin said. "Miss Granger, can you tell me why, presently, the boggart is at disadvantage?"

"Because, due to the sheer number of people present, the boggart won't be able to decide what it'll turn into, Professor," Hermione answered, extremely quickly.

"Correct," Lupin said, again. "Five points to you both. Yes, Miss Granger and Mr Potter—that is, Mr Arasar—if you wish to be called that?"

Lupin gave Arasar a questioning look. Arasar nodded gratefully. Lupin continued:

"… are right. That is, Miss Granger and Mr. Arasar are right. I once saw a boggart wavering between two choices—to become a slug or a headless corpse? It turned into half a slug. Not remotely frightening."

Arasar nodded in understanding.

"Now," Lupin said, "the way to defeat a boggart, as I told you last time—is to make it something amusing."

Ron quivered.

"I want you to think of what your greatest fear is—and how you can change it to something funny. Visualize your boggart transforming into that object. The charm is 'Riddikulus'."

Arasar knew all this. But he didn't know what his greatest fear was, quite. He'd have to make up something in the spur of the moment, he realized, with a sinking of his heart. He was fairly sure he could do that—his imagination was quite odd and expansive, as Azar had always said—but he didn't like being unprepared…

"Right. Form a line, please," said Lupin. Arasar drifted into the middle of a line, behind Parvati Patil and in front of Ron. The other line was purely Slytherin. They glared at each other, and Arasar stared at them in bemusement.

"Rivalry strong?" he asked confusedly. "I see. Silly, really."

They all glared at him. Arasar snorted.

"Why do you hate each other so much, anyway?" he asked. Even Lupin was listening now, staring at him.

"They're Gryffindors," said the blonde one, in a disgusted tone of voice.

"Ah," said Arasar, wisely. "You hate them because they're Gryffindors. What a wonderful, sensible and unbiased reason. And what's your excuse?" he looked at Ron. "I suppose it's 'They're Slytherins'?"

"Well, it is!" protested Ron feebly.

Arasar nodded sagely.

"Naturally," he said blandly. "Well, carry on with your grudge. It's quite amusing to watch, really."

They all stared at him in outrage. Arasar stared at them, too.

"I suppose," he said, "that your boggarts are all your Head of Houses kicking you out and ordering to go to the other house?"

Some people went green at the idea.

Arasar sighed.

"Well, Professor, carry on with this Riddikulus class."

Lupin snorted at the pun and pointed his wand at the rattling wardrobe, which rattled even harder, as if the thing inside knew it was about to be free, and was eager to get out…

"Alohomora," he incantated quietly. The doors banged open and a banshee advanced on the first person, Seamus Finnigan.

"Riddikulus!" he yelled, in a panic. The banshee's head fell off.

It went on. Arasar eyed the boggart's forms with idle interest. Neville Longbottom's boggart, strangely enough, was the greasy haired man. The class had to be stalled a few minutes in order to take a traumatized Neville to the hospital wing and subdue the wild-eyed and greasy boggart.

Until it was Arasar's turn.

Behind him, Ron whispered in his ear a choked

"Stall it, Arasar! Please!"

Arasar shrugged and stepped forward. The boggart stared at him for a moment, in a form of a mummy, and turned around quickly and became something Arasar had never seen before.

It breathed coldness. Arasar grew pale. It wasn't freezing his body, it was freezing his mind…

It was going dark…

Arasar, before he collapsed, did the only thing he could think of and lifted the locket under his shirt away from his skin.

He staggered right back up. He felt invincible. It was a feeling he could get used to, certainly.

He raised his hand and put his hands together the way Rowena had taught him. Signs of power. He had been excellent at them before he had started losing his magic…

The creature was blown away, and Arasar saw it clearly. It had a drifting cloak, tattered and black. He knew it wasn't air that was keeping it up, it was the cold. It was…

Another piece of memory surfaced. Dementors. Soul suckers. Joy leechers. The only defense was…

"Expecto Patronum," muttered Arasar quietly, entirely and utterly forgetting about the Riddikulus charm. A silver raven flew out of his hand, growing larger, and charged at the dementor, cawing silently in defiance against it.

The creature shattered against the wall into pieces. Arasar felt the locket drift back on his skin, and he felt the magic disappear as quickly as it had come. He sighed and waved a hand. The pieces collected and turned into a vase with grotesque faces staring.

"Oh," he said, transfixed. "Now _that_ is what I call rather ugly…"

Ron tapped him on the shoulder gingerly.

"Um, mate?" he asked uncertainly. "What was that?"

"What was what?" asked Arasar, touching the vase. No flower could survive in it. It was too depressing an ornament.

"For a moment… you were glowing." said Hermione. "What was that, anyway?"

"No idea," said Arasar blithely. "Continue with the class, Professor." He marched to the back and sat down abruptly.

"That was quite unexpected," he muttered to Ron as they filed out. He was about to say more, but Lupin called him back.

"Mr Arasar? Could you stay back, please?" he asked. Arasar gave them a blank, puzzled look and strode back to Lupin, who looked quite upset.

"How did you produce a Patronus?" he asked. "That spell didn't exist in the Founder's time, and no one can master that spell in that short a time…"

Arasar pondered a bit. If he told Lupin, it was likely he would tell others. And the secret would be out. But if he kept it to himself, it would be a secret weapon. Drick would approve of this, he knew. With all his energy he arranged his face into a convincing smile.

"Is it called that?" he asked. "I didn't know. I've always been able to do that, one of the few things I'm good at, really. I'd prefer it if you didn't tell anyone, sir." Arasar gave Lupin a melting look.

It was no good. Lupin wasn't fooled. His eyes narrowed and grew suspicious. The strangeness overwhelmed Arasar—the feeling of wild, the smell of meadows in the night, the haunting silence of nature and the other, stranger feeling as if…

He almost had it, then it was gone.

He stared back at Lupin, defiantly.

"It's not wrong, is it, sir?" he asked smartly. "I see no reason why you should detain me when I have done no wrong. Or perhaps you now feel I am showing off?"

He was being distinctly sarcastic, Arasar thought. He was toeing the line a bit. But his words had the desired effect.

"No," said Lupin, sounding exhausted. "Yes, you may go. I was merely curious…"

Arasar gave him a politely disbelieving look and exited the room.

He didn't like the strangeness about Lupin. Lupin himself was fine, extremely nice, in fact, but that thing—the aura around Lupin—was tainted in a way he did not like.

He soon found Ron, who was waiting around the corner with Dean, Seamus and Neville.

"What did he want?" asked Ron.

"He was just curious about the boghaert—boggart, I mean," said Arasar brightly. "What's next?"

"Potions," said Neville, with a shiver. "Professor Snape's next—the greasy one, the one who insulted you before he left."

Arasar nodded in comprehension.

"Let's go, then," he said. "Something tells me that Snape won't like me, even if I brewed the best potion in the class…"

"Who taught you potions, anyway?" asked Neville, sounding interested. "The Founders were the professors, right?"

"Ah…" said Arasar. "Oh, Professors. Yes, they did. Azar taught potions and transfiguration, Row—Rowena, that is—taught charms and the Sight—"

"Uh, Divination?"

"That's it," said Arasar, having really no idea, in truth. "And Helga taught potions with Azar, but Azar was better, and she taught Herbology and Magical Animals with Drick: they're both good with animals—"

"Care of Magical Creatures?"

"That must be it," said Arasar vaguely. "Drick taught, um, let's see, Defense and Magical Animals with Helga, and he taught Runes with Rowena…" He trailed off.

"I'm still getting used to the thought of Salazar Slytherin being nice," said Dean, shuddering. "I mean, I thought he'd be like Snape or something…"

Arasar snorted as they neared the dungeons.

"Trust me, Azar is much, much better looking than Snape."

They entered the classroom.

* * *

(1) Joke.


	5. Gringotts

They entered the classroom, slightly apprehensively. Snape pounced on them almost immediately.

"Potter. Weasley. Finnigan. Thomas. And Longbottom." He spat out the names with the utmost disgust. "You. Are. Late."

Arasar didn't like him at once. Now that he had five elements, because the Shadow element was his own and Drick, Row, Helga and Azar had given him fire, air, earth and water, too, he could sense auras quite well, now. He knew Snape was not a nice person. Arasar knew that most of it was because the trials he had faced in his life—probably—but that didn't mean he had to like the man. And he knew that Snape hated him, too.

"Ten points from Gryffindor each," said Snape, looking smugly satisfied.

_I am being blindingly dishonest,_ Arasar thought, as he sat down next to Neville. _Azar taught me in secret about the points system. I wonder how Snape will react when he sees he has, in fact, added fifty points instead of subtracting them._

Snape prowled around the room, snapping at Gryffindors and praising Slytherins. Arasar thought that if Azar had been here, he would have chained Snape's feet and left him hanging to the ceiling, above a large pool of bubbling bubotuber pus and brimstone. Azar hated biased people.

_Will he find out, I wonder?_ thought Arasar as he firmly stopped Neville from adding an improper ingredient. _He looks like someone who won't check and daily subtract unfair points…_

He shrugged and stirred the potion with one hand, the other hand tapping out the seconds on the desk.

Arasar thought that Snape was considering saying that long hair was not allowed in his class and try to cut it all off. If _he_ had been the professor, Arasar would have told Snape to wash his hair. It certainly needed it.

Almost as if Snape knew what he was thinking, he swooped onto him like an overgrown bat.

"Potter—" he began and stopped, fuming, when he saw Arasar's potion was perfect. Arasar gave him a long, vague look instead of the smug and superior one he wanted to give, because Snape was sure to say that it was cheek and subtract another hundred points and give him detention. Detention was one thing even Arasar couldn't get out of. It was futile to tell him that his name wasn't Potter, either. It was very obvious that he wouldn't listen.

"You cheated," was all Snape could think of to snap. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

Behind him, Ron growled angrily. Snape smiled, his sheet-white face lighting up.

"Another fifteen points for complaining."

Fortunately, all of them had sense not to say anything. Snape waited for a moment and swooped away again, seeming disappointed.

"He's completely biased!" whispered Ron, his face red.

"Don't worry," murmured Arasar. "Azar taught me how to manipulate the points system…"

Seamus and Dean's faces lit up with unholy glee.

"Can you take all the points from Slytherin?"

Arasar gave him a disapproving look. Ron choked. He did look so much like McGonagall. Arasar knew he did, and that was why he was doing it. He thinned his lips.

"No," he said, mimicking McGonagall. "Mr. Finnigan, you should be ashamed of thinking such things!"

Seamus coughed gently as Snape made a beeline for them as soon as he saw they weren't concentrating on their potions. Unfortunately for him, they were all angelically staring into their cauldrons by the time he reached them.

Snape glared at the potions. Neville had copied Arasar's movements, and his potion was nearly perfect and as good as Hermione Granger's. Seamus, Dean and Ron had also brewed quite acceptable ones, which were now bubbling energetically in the cauldrons.

Arasar took it that he was very disappointed Neville had done rather well. There was hate steaming from Snape, all directed at Neville. Intentionally, too. No wonder Neville was cowed. Arasar firmly, one hand tipping one corner of the locket away from his skin, pushed the hate away, noticing the domination spell mixed with the hate. Well, well, well. Snape was that kind of person was he? Very adept at Legilimency, though. Pity…

Snape noticed. His face turned white with anger, blotchy with slight red and yellow spots on his face. It was not a pretty sight. But, thought Arasar with satisfaction, he couldn't run and tattle to Dumbledore. Dumbledore would demand to know what Arasar had done, and Snape couldn't lie. He would have to admit he had been using domination spells on students. And Arasar was sure, that even in this twisted, strange modern age, that was not allowed.

The bell rang at that moment. Arasar let the locket drop back on his skin and thankfully escaped the dark dungeons with the others.

"Monster, isn't he?" asked Neville, who had obviously not noticed anything. Arasar shrugged.

"Can you really manipulate the points system?" asked Ron.

"I can," said Arasar. "But," he added, seeing them open their mouths eagerly, "I won't be like Snape and do something really unfair. That would be lowering myself down to his level."

"You should," said Hermione disapprovingly, passing by. "Though," she added, "I think you shouldn't know that."

"What am I supposed to do, Obliviate myself or something?" demanded Arasar. Ron sputtered with laughter. Arasar pointed his chin at them.

"What's next in the torture series?" he asked them.

"Um, double Transfiguration, but that's after lunch," Ron answered, grinning.

Arasar nodded.

"I'll skip that," he decided. "I'm still digesting my enormous breakfast."

"You didn't even eat that much!" said Ron, outraged, but Arasar was gone.

"I might have some time to go to—what's the name—Diagon Alley, then." Arasar muttered as he ran to the Room of Requirement. "I have about two hours."

He was barely puffing when he reached the Room of Requirement. He gave all the baggage there a despairing look and concentrated. A small white and purple altar-ish table, round, pillar-like—Greek, sort of—and with a large white marble key on it appeared. He took it reverently. The key was, after all, a thousand years old…

He concentrated again, fixing his mind on a place he knew from Dumbledore's memories, and Apparated there.

He looked at Dumbledore's files as he went, to keep his mind off the feeling he always had when he transported—Apparated, that was. The feeling that felt like he was going through a rubber tube with no air. It was a feeling he rather hated.

Dumbledore knew quite a lot. Arasar found himself sorting information about Grindelwald, the twelve uses of dragon's blood, names and memories of personalities and people and likes and dislikes, Hogwarts, students, teachers around in his head, and it was such an overwhelming lot of information that it made him quite dizzy and very relieved when he arrived in Diagon Alley, and he could stop thinking about it.

Diagon Alley was rather different from most of Dumbledore's memories. Arasar blinked at first, considerably bewildered. Diagon Alley—a sort of town that had been born around Gringotts. Gringotts was probably the large building over there. How large it had grown.

The place was nearly deserted. Half the shops were closed, the ones left had little to no customers. There were 'WANTED' signs everywhere—pictures of ugly men, ugly women, ordinary men and ordinary women were everywhere. Though the most common one was one with a picture of a man in it—he must have been handsome, once, but his skin was waxy and his eyes looked dead. Under it, there was the name in capitals 'SIRIUS BLACK' and under it, there were words—probably the amount of money that would be given to the man—or woman—who caught him, and his crimes. Arasar knew it would be a long while, if ever, before they did… catch this man, this Sirius Black, that is. It was in his eyes, something hidden beneath the surface, so strong a secret that Arasar could feel it even in the picture.

The name brought up another torrent of memories from Dumbledore's files. Sirius Black. A group called the Marauders, Sirius Black as a eighteen year old, a fifteen year old, an eleven year old—and, as Arasar had strongly suspected, extremely handsome. Sirius Black and his three friends, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin—

The last word registered. Professor Lupin? The teacher at Hogwarts?

He dismissed the name 'James Potter'. It wasn't really important, even though the man had been his father. He was dead and gone and Arasar had never known him.

He did feel a slight pang of regret, though.

Arasar shrugged defeatedly and walked over to Gringotts. The place was almost empty, and the only occupants, besides himself, were two goblins.

"In the name of Jeka, I greet you," said Arasar, using the formal greeting of goblins. The two whirled around and stared at him. Arasar noted Dumbledore's files said that no one used those kind of speeches today. They mostly treated goblins rudely—how stupid of them, really.

"We greet you in the name of Jeka," answered the older looking one at last. "What have you come for?"

_Goblins are rude as well,_ Arasar noted. _Pity._

"Vault Seven," he answered.

The goblin muttered something.

"We'll have to take you to the manager," he said grumpily. "No one's come to claim that vault in a thousand years. There will be some problems."

"I understand," said Arasar agreeably. "The manager—what's his name?"

"Goldhook," said Crackhead, leading him.

"No, his goblin name," Arasar corrected him. "I can't call him Goldhook."

Crackhead looked at him.

"If you must know," he grumbled, "his name is Malythur. Mind you be polite to him."

Arasar nodded.

They went through a door and boarded a rickety boat and took off. Arasar sat down and watched the black waters swirl around.

"Tight security," he noted as he felt several stony barriers no ordinary wizard could break. "I approve."

Crackhead nodded stiffly and they stood up and jumped up on a large rock. The boat drifted away. Arasar watched it in some interest.

"The river goes round," Crackhead explained. "It'll end up in the same place."

Arasar shrugged. The stone started turned slowly, and it started to go down. The water continued to avoid the space the rock had been in, as if, to the water, the stone was still solid. Arasar noticed the water seemed to rise as they went down.

They went down until they slowly hit the ground underneath. Crackhead marched over nervously to a door and knocked, hand shaking slightly.

The door opened automatically. Arasar entered after Crackhead.

"Lord Malythur," said Crackhead, bowing lowly. "I bring you a youth who claims Vault Seven is his."

"May your labor yield you gold," said Arasar, using the term used to greet the highest of goblins. Malythur, who was quite ordinary looking, albeit a bit old, looked startled.

"Not many use those greeting, youth," said Malythur, looking amused. "Your name?"

"Arasar, Heir of Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin and Helga Hufflepuff," said Arasar promptly. "I wish to take some gold."

"Your key," said Malythur, doubt clear in his voice. Arasar closed his empty hand and opened it again, the key in it this time. Malythur's goblinish brows rose at that. That particular trick was very hard, because Arasar had used no magic or muggle tricks. It was a goblin skill, and few humans could master it.

The key sailed over to Malythur. Malythur took it and examined it, and let out a sharp word.

"By Jeka!" he exclaimed. "This is real!"

He looked at Arasar again.

"Arasar, heir of the Founders," he said, "I greet you."

"Thank you," said Arasar. "May I visit the vault, now?"

"You may." Malythur grinned, revealing the row of sharp white teeth in his mouth. "Take him, Moryth."

Crackhead—or rather, Moryth—bowed again and exited, walking slowly backwards. Arasar bowed too, politely and gracefully, and exited.

"You won his favor," muttered Moryth, disbelief evident in his voice. "You won the Lord Malythur's favor!"

"I did," agreed Arasar. "Surprising?"

"A goblin is a friend of no human," said Moryth firmly.

"Ah," said Arasar. "Ah, well."

Moryth shot him a Look and the boat returned. Arasar stepped back onto it, and Moryth clicked at the boat. It glided off, creaking.

"Is this boat sound?" asked Arasar.

"As sound as your brain," Moryth shot back. Arasar shrugged. Moryth, he thought, thinking of the goblin lore Rowena used to teach him, meant 'the diamond'. Not, he decided, very fitting.

The boat made a crunch sound as it bumped onto yet another rock. Moryth, ignoring Arasar, (Arasar thought that Moryth was jealous, rather) jumped onto it. Arasar followed.  
Half of the rock turned in to an archway. Moryth gave Arasar a malevolent glare.

"Well," he said. "Go on in. Anyone who has the key can go in."

Arasar gave him an incredulous look and marched into the archway defiantly.

* * *

_Malythur is pronounced 'Malethyoor'. _


	6. Shopping&More

_A/N: One;; This, insofar, is not my writing. It's **Amsuhl**'s. Just clarifying._

_Two;; It's not that hard to submit a quick little review saying what you liked about the chapter, you know, or even just a "good chapter; update soon" or something. I literally got over thirty e-mails saying people added this to their alerts, and then even more about this story being added to favorite stories lists. I got five reviews, though. (Or maybe it was six. Hmm.) And there were already almost 200 people with this story on their alerts. I'm not going to whine or beg for reviews or anything, but I'd just like you all to know what I'd appreciate it a lot more if you just took the time to say _something_ about _why_ you decided to add this story to your alerts, and all that. It honestly doesn't take that long to review. I should know. If you liked the story enough to add it to alerts/favorites, then you should say something about it.  
_

_'Kay, thanks._

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* * *

_

It was a squared room, with five walls. A pentagon. There were four chests next to each wall, with an animal guarding each one. There was another one in the center, but Arasar ignored that for the meantime.

He smiled fondly at the four chests. Lion, snake, eagle and badger were guarding them.

He walked over to Row's chest first. One with bronze-colored wood and sapphires decorating it. Beautiful workmanship. A large R-shaped sapphire in the center. Arasar opened it.

There were a few leather-bound books. Arasar looked through them and grinned. Journals. He could copy them and publish them—he was sure it would bring a lot of money.

He sighed as he pushed aside the journals. There was that pendant that Row always wore—a bronze one, with a sapphire in the middle. And here was her wand. Arasar pocketed that. Rowena had always loved those colors, blue and bronze.

He pushed that aside, too, and found a book titled in Row's flowing script: 'ARASAR'.

Arasar opened it with some interest. The first entry was set during the summer, when he had left.

_Dear Arasar, today you wrote to me, telling me hysterically about a prophecy and a dark lord…_

Arasar raised his eyebrows, feeling faintly embarassed.

_No, don't make that hideous face, love. All the money's in the central chest; I'd imagine it would gather quite a bit of interest during a thousand years. Drick's regretful about that—he's moaning about how he could benefit from all that money…_

Arasar laughed. That certainly sounded like Drick…

_But don't mind him. He's been gloomy ever since you've left._

There was more, but Arasar decided he would read it all later. He placed it in his pocket and idly thought that he would need a trunk.

He moved on to Drick's gold trunk with the rubies.

There was a letter on the top. Arasar pocketed it, too, saving it for later. He sorted through some journals with messily scrawled entries in them, and Drick's dragon-hide gloves with spikes on them. Arasar grinned. If you hit someone with those gloves on, they would have four deep cuts when you pulled away your hand…

He pulled out Drick's wand. He put that in his pocket and pulled on the gloves, careful not to scratch the things. There were a few more books, some weapons, and a painted portrait of Drick and Azar that Arasar pocketed too. He closed the trunk and went over to Helga's gold and onyx trunk.

There was Helga's wand at the top. And a bunch of letters, a few journals, as expected, a striped wooden carving of a badger Arasar knew Helga had done herself. He nodded admiringly and pocketed it, too. He really needed to buy a trunk…

With three wands, letters, a statue, and books in both his pockets, Arasar sighed deeply and moved on to Azar's silver and green one.

It was rather bare. The bandit, Arasar thought, with swelling anger, had probably taken all the valuables Azar had had. There were a few unfinished diaries, a letter, as expected, and his wand. There was his treasured dagger, a silver blade with a silver emerald embedded into the hilt. It was enchanted, which was why the bandit hadn't taken it, Arasar thought. He reverently hooked it to his belt, took the wand and the letter and closed the trunk regretfully. Then he realized he could shrink all the things in his pocket and cursed himself. He did it at once.

He finally went over to the central trunk. It was full of Galleons, he saw, when he opened it. He shrunk about two hundred, and put that in his pocket, too.

He regretfully walked out.

Moryth was grimly examining his goblinish nails.

"Finally," he stated, when Arasar came out. "You took your time."

"I did," agreed Arasar. "Let's go."

Moryth gave him a dirty look, and then they jumped back into the boat and drifted back towards their original starting point.

"Very nice to meet you," said Arasar blandly, his tone saying otherwise. Without saying another word, he went out of the building and looked at the entire Diagon Alley stretching out in front of him, for the top of the stairs he was standing on was high above other buildings.

Arasar couldn't bear to go near the pet shop. He was still missing Rahon. It was strange, because he hadn't been aware he had been so fond of Rahon.

He found himself thinking about Rahon again as he walked briskly toward the bookshop, the store with the most customers. Rahon was a pure black horse, with some thestral blood in him, along with some unicorn too. His dam had been Row's horse, Safa, who came from Nara, and so she was a rather expensive horse, and the result had been Rahon. Rahon was purely black, and Arasar was sure he had inherited some thestral magic, for he sometimes couldn't be seen in the full moon, and he sometimes disappeared for weeks, and came back, perfectly fine. His hair, Row had commented, was exactly like Arasar's. Black and untamable.

He pulled himself from his memories and walked into the shop.

There were thousands of shelves. Or perhaps just a few hundred. There were sections with large signs, with capitals, hanging over them. TRANSFIGURATION was one. HISTORY was another. There was MUGGLES and CHARMS and DIVINATION, which had only half a shelf to itself.

After he had gathered all of the third year books, he started pulling down books at random. There wasn't much he didn't know, thanks to Dumbledore's memories, but they were rather hard to sort out at the moment. Arasar simply didn't know where to start. He picked the ones about things Dumbledore didn't know much about, like Potions and Herbology. Dumbledore was an absolute genius with a wand, Arasar knew, but he wasn't much good at those.

He opened a thick looking 'Moste Potente Potions' and skimmed the introduction. Then he put it with the rapidly growing pile of books he already had.

He also went to the MUGGLES section and picked out a few books about technology. Dumbledore knew little about Muggle technology, Arasar knew. He pulled out one about electricity, which looked absolutely fascinating, one about Muggle history, another about Muggle historic figures, one about cultures…

He added them to a now gigantic pile and levitated them all to the register. The man sitting behind it looked delighted and horrified at the same time.

"All of them!" he exclaimed incredulously. Arasar merely grinned at him. Sweetly.

The man's eyes found Arasar's scar. Arasar winced and looked at the ceiling as the man drew in the well known gasp that he had been hearing at Hogwarts ever since he had arrived.

"Harry Potter!" he said in an awed voice. "By Merlin!"

Arasar could tell that all thoughts of the books had left his mind. He seized Arasar's hand and started shaking it furiously.

"It was all over the papers," he gasped, "but I didn't dare hope—such an honor, Mr. Potter, such an honor—"

Arasar bore it all with a patient, vaguely irritated expression on his face.

"The books, please," he said pointedly.

"Ah, yes, of course," the man agreed, grabbing them. "Tell you what, I'll give 'em all to ya for fifty Galleons."

"That would be exploiting you," said Arasar. "And your manager would be furious."

"I am the manager," said the man, sighing. "All the staff has left. Complaining about the pay. How can I pay them when no one comes to my shop, I don't know…"

Arasar counted the books hurriedly.

"Thinking an average of two Galleons per book," he said, "I'll give you one hundred and eight Galleons."

"Of course!" agreed the manager happily as gold coins flew out of Arasar's pocket, becoming their proper size as they went. "I'll shrink them for you, shall I?" he added.

"Unnecessary," said Arasar cheerfully. "But I'd be grateful if you gave me a plastic bag."

The manager's face turned puzzled. Arasar hastily remembered that many wizards scorned Muggle things. Hastily, he added, "Or, I'll just be going."

He left, books flying into his pocket and getting dustlike and small as they went—hurriedly.

He irritably brushed a finger against his scar. It obligingly disappeared.

"If people keep acting like that," he said angrily to himself, "I don't know _what_ I'll do."

He went over to the trunk shop and bought, without any trouble, a small bag that looked like a well when you looked inside. Half the price. Arasar thought pityingly that the war must have been hard on everyone. He gladly dropped all his things into it and walked into the Apothecary.

The things there were cheap as well. He bought all of the ingredients there for some two thirds the original price and peacefully went out without having spent even half of his money yet. He wondered what was next, and remembered his wand.

"Bother!" he said aloud, looking at a large clock hanging from a magical artifacts shop. "I'll have to do without. Only have a few minutes left."

He sighed, resigned, and walked into the magical artifacts shop instead. It looked rather interesting.

The girl there raised her head hopefully. It fell when she saw that the customer was a thirteen year old boy. Arasar smiled sweetly at her and took a look around.

"Don't break anything," the girl warned, dispassionately. Arasar shrugged, not looking at her, and picked up a watch that was, apparently, charmed to go forever and worked in magical places like Hogwarts. He held it between his thumb and his third finger and felt it.

The charm was wearing off, Arasar thought. But it was very exact. And he could fix the charm. He liked it, too, silver, with black hands and blue numbers. He walked over to the next display with interest.

It was a green gem. Arasar looked at it, transfixed. It was the exact color of his eyes. The sign said that it was a magical jewel that could store magic. Arasar remembered these. Mavuges. Drick had a Mavuge on his sword, in the shape of a ruby. Mavuges were rather rare, but the sign said that it was only four Galleons—in his time, it would have worth much more. When the cost was translated, of course.

He picked it up, too, and walked over the counter. The girl glared at him.

"You won't be able to pay for those," she warned him. Arasar simply smiled at her meltingly and shook out another few Galleons.

The girl took them, and stared at him.

"Right," she said finally. "Thanks."

Arasar put the gem in his trunk, fastened the watch, and walked out of the store.

He was just in time for Transfiguration. He entered just before the bell rang and sat down in the only empty spot, a seat next to the unpleasant looking blonde Slytherin.

"Have you the textbook, Mr. Potter?" asked McGonagall, thinning her lips. Arasar gave her the same melting smile he had given to the girl in the magical artifacts shop and the book, growing bigger as it came, flew out of his bag and plopped on his desk with a firm thud.

"I'd prefer it if you called me Arasar or Mr. Arasar," he suggested. "I've never been called Potter before."

McGonagall shrugged, but looked rather disappointed, though probably no one noticed except Arasar. Arasar was good at reading Drick's moods, and Drick was even harder to read than McGonagall.

"Yes," she said. "Mr. Arasar, I doubt you know enough to learn with the others. The Headmaster, however, told me quite firmly that you can do anything I wish you to do. Please, then, demonstrate the transfiguration of this inkpot into a broom."

Arasar heard Hermione gasp. He also knew, from Dumbledore's knowledge, that something that complex was learnt in fourth year, or later in third year. The size gap was rather large, he knew, and the broom had twigs that would need individual concentration. The stone that made the inkpot McGonagall had put on his desk was very different from the wood a broom was made of, too.

Arasar looked at McGonagall. He knew that McGonagall didn't hate him, like Snape did. In fact, he had a clear feeling that McGonagall liked him. Not that she showed any outwards sign of it, but from Dumbledore's memories, he saw that McGonagall had liked his father very much. And Arasar, with another slow bump in his heart, realized that he looked very much like his father indeed.

His father, Arasar discovered, had been a master at Transfiguration. That cleared it up, then. McGonagall was testing him. Seeing if he had inherited his father's genes.

Arasar gave McGonagall another melting smile and curled his fingers around the inkpot. Without a pop, or any visible sign of gradual change, the inkpot Arasar had been holding had become a beautiful broom.

Arasar looked at it wonderingly. He had to get a broom, he thought. Flying sounded wonderful.

McGonagall was as surprised at Arasar was. Perhaps even more. She snatched it from his loose hands demandingly and examined it, growing more amazed by the second. Probably, Arasar thought, a thousand questions were running through her head. Like how Arasar did it wandlessly, how he knew that spell, which McGonagall had not expected to know, how he had done it wordlessly, but all she said was:

"This is…" she half-exclaimed, almost stammering. "I wasn't aware that this spell existed a thousand years ago…"

"Considering that you think the Founders are so great," said Arasar dryly, "I'm surprised you don't think much of their transfiguring skills."

McGonagall gave an uncertain laugh and tapped the broom with her wand, trying to turn it back. It didn't do anything. Her eyebrows rose and joined in one thin, severe line and she tapped it again, more firmly.

As Arasar had expected, it didn't do a thing. McGonagall's eyebrows bunched together. Arasar watched her face in interest.

"This is a very strange spell," she remarked. "Did the Founders teach you this?"

Arasar tried not to laugh. It was an ordinary spell, really, but he seemed to have put too much power into it.

"Not really," he answered, in an oddly choked voice. "Can I have it back, please? I think it's magical, and I'm dying to fly."

McGonagall, it seemed, saw nothing wrong with this. Her face lit up.

"Do you play Quidditch?" she asked, almost eagerly. "Your father did."

Arasar shrugged and took back the broom and propped it against the wall.

"Right," said McGonagall, her face going stern again. "Today, we're learning how to turn a smaller object into a large one. As Arasar kindly demonstrated…"

The blonde Slytherin kept looking at him, sneaking glances. He seemed caught between scornful, awed, angry, and melancholy. Arasar ignored him and seemed to be paying rapt attention to McGonagall's words.

Dumbledore was excellent at Transfiguration. He had been a professor of that particular subject, before he had become Headmaster. McGonagall knew a lot about it, too, but not as much as Dumbledore, Arasar thought. Dumbledore was a natural master at Transfiguration and Charms.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she suddenly exclaimed, diving onto the blonde Slytherin in a manner painfully reminiscent of the way Snape have swooped onto Neville. "You are_ not holding your wand properly_."

Malfoy blushed and gripped his wand again.

_Pity it's a double class,_ Arasar thought as he transfigured his inkpot again._ This is rather boring._

The others, however, were struggling too hard with the complex spell to notice that time was crawling by. Hermione Granger, who was sitting at a single desk without a partner—Arasar pitied her, and vowed that he would sit next to her next time—had transfigured the inkpot correctly, but, unlike Arasar, she did not looked bored at all.

_I have to go back to Diagon Alley, I suppose,_ Arasar thought drearily. The empty, gray streets of Diagon Alley had not appealed to him at all. _I need a wand and some other things._

He summoned the greenstone Mavuge. It flew out of his trunk and started spinning on the desk, looking innocent. Arasar hastily took it in his hands.

_It isn't an emerald,_ he thought. He knew what an emerald felt like. Azar had plenty of them lying around. This stone had some emerald in it—it had that strange kind of familiarity—and quite some magic. It was at least forty percent magic. The emerald part of it was about sixty. _It has to be,_ he thought. _The emerald is the physical essence part of it. It has to be more than half physical._

He'd never had a Mavuge before. None had appealed to him. Azar's emeralds were just that, emeralds, but this was different.

Another thought struck him. Testing out his theory, he put both hands around the Mavuge, but not touching it and reached out with his magic…

Before he could do anything, though, McGonagall looked at him and Arasar used his goblin vanishing/appearing trick to make it disappear.

The class ended in what felt like a thousand years to Arasar. He sprang up thankfully with the others and hurtled out of the door and nearly crashed into a wall, which was closer than Arasar had thought it would be.

"Finally!" gasped Ron. "I thought it'd never end. Classes are over today, Arasar; they go easy on us on Wednesdays."

"And that know-it-all Granger," Seamus complained, joining them. "Oh, I know that one!" he said, mimicking in a high voice that sounded more like Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil than Hermione. "It's called Kyranticality, Professor! The spell has to be used correctly, Professor! I know that one, Professor!"

Dean chuckled, not at all kindly. Neville just gave them all an anxious look and ran toward the Gryffindor Tower. He was closely followed by a girl Arasar did not recognize at first, but than he realized the bushy brown hair flying behind her was Hermione's.


	7. A Room&Flying

_Sorry this took quite a while. Lots of issues to be addressed at the bottom of the page._

_Also: I didn't mean to come off as rude or demanding or whatever if I did, last chapter, in the author's note at the beginning. I just figure, if you like a story enough to add it to your favorites/alerts, surely it deserves just a few seconds of your time for a quick little review? Sorry; it's a pet peeve of mine._

_

* * *

_

"That reminds me, I have to move all that stuff into your dorm," Arasar muttered, excusing himself, and flew after Hermione.

"Granger," he greeted her, catching up with her easily. "Hermione Granger, am I correct…?"

"Yes," said Hermione fiercely. "Leave me alone!"

"That," said Arasar, "would be leaving a damsel in distress. According to your ridiculous code, that is highly inappropriate for a Gryffindor to do."

"Oh, go away!" Hermione snapped, and veered to the right, where Arasar knew there was a girls' bathroom. Arasar used a bit of magic to stop himself from hurtling after her and embarrassing himself.

"Do come out," he cajoled.

"Go away!" Hermione repeated.

"If you don't," said Arasar calmly, "I'll just wait out here."

He did just that. He sat down and spread his robe out on the ground evenly and watched the reflected stall Hermione was crying in the mirror.

"I take it," he said, "that you've gone through this ritual many times before? Don't you get tired of it?"

"You don't understand, anyway," she hissed back, trying to slam the faulty door repeatedly, and failing. "You're just famous Harry Potter. Everyone likes you."

"Not really," said Arasar, tone conversational. "The unpleasant-looking blonde Slytherin doesn't fancy me much, I should think."

"That," said Hermione scathingly, "is a Slytherin. Gryffindors and Slytherins are mortal enemies, even though your 'Azar' and 'Drick' were brothers and friends."

"Half brothers," corrected Arasar.

"You can't sit there forever," was Hermione's response.

"Neither can you," Arasar shot back. They stared at each other through the dirty mirror, both with identical rebellious looks.

"What's wrong, anyway?" asked Arasar. "Do you really mind what they say? They're just idiots."

"You go around with them," Hermione pointed out.

"I do," agreed Arasar. "But that doesn't make them perfect in my eyes or anything. We've known each other for less than a day. For all I know, I could prefer the company of that blonde Slytherin."

Hermione sputtered with laughter at the idea, even though her eyes were still streaming.

"Just go away," she said. "It doesn't concern you, anyway."

"It doesn't," agreed Arasar amiably. He just watched Hermione's reflection in the mirror glare at him.

They stared at each other for another minute or so.

"Oh, fine," said Hermione. Grudgingly. "You made me too angry to be sad. Go away and I'll go out."

Arasar obligingly rose and marched away. He knew a truth when he heard one. Hermione would be fine.

He then realized that his broom—previously inkpot—was still in McGonagall's classroom. He reluctantly slid into the classroom, where McGonagall was grading a stack of essay papers. He grabbed the broom and slid out before McGonagall could notice.

Arasar stroked it as he went back to the Room of Requirement. The handle was flawless and smooth, and the color, in Arasar's eyes, was just perfect. An autumn-colored wood; gold, brown, and yellow. Every twig was perfectly fresh looking, elegantly proportioned. Arasar turned the broom around and found no name.

He had reached the Room of Requirement by the time he had finished scrutinizing the broom. He gently laid it on the bed, and with a sweep of his hand and a tilt of the locket, everything he had packed itself up in his bag. Awkwardly hanging from one shoulder, it swung as he went out of the room. The room, no longer needed, disappeared.

He took several shortcuts to Gryffindor Tower, to avoid staring. With a complex piece of magic he was glad he knew, he went right through the portrait of the Fat Lady, who shrieked indignantly.

Ron was waiting for him.

"Oh, you found your way!" he exclaimed, as if he had thought Arasar could not get around the castle without getting lost. _No doubt, _thought Arasar, _he has his reasons. Experience, naturally…_

"Marvelous broom," Ron said, staring at the broom as well. "It looks even better than the new Firebolt, and that's saying something."

"Firebolt?" asked Arasar, maneuvering himself up to the third year boys' dormitory, following Ron.

"The newest broom," Ron explained, glowing at the very thought. "Really great! Good speed, extra strong cushioning charm, and it has this new brake—stops you in the middle of the air, no exaggeration—and it's hollow, so it's really light, but the inside is stuffed with spells so it has protection from jinxes, hexes, curses and it…"

"Right," said Arasar, nudging the door open with his foot. "Good. Which bed's mine?"

"There's an extra one over there," said Ron, pointing to the far corner. "Lucky you. Right beside the window.

Arasar, too, thought it was very convenient. He dropped his bag next to the bed and collapsed on the bed, curling and uncurling his toes in the red blanket. He stared at the ceiling, and inspiration struck him suddenly.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, springing up energetically. "Can't believe none of you thought of it before."

"What, mate?" Ron asked.

"This," said Arasar, and concentrated. Inside the half-closed curtains, the bed stretched and grew larger, until it was room-sized. Ron walked to the left.

"Wow!" he breathed, awe evident in his voice. "It's the same size. Even Dad can't do an Enlargening Charm like this without bungling at least one part of it."

Arasar concentrated again, until the blankets shrank. It shrank until the bed was the original size, but there was empty space around it. It looked almost exactly like an unfurnished room, except gigantic metal springs poked out of the floor that was not a floor, but a wood-colored mattress. Arasar laughed, and the springs disappeared, and the mattress became wood.

Ron goggled.

Arasar took the light bulb from the lamp besides his bed, now room. He set it a little apart from the bed and concentrated again. The light bulb's glass became less transparent as seconds passed, and grew large. The roundness slowly disappeared and became square. Small spaces appeared, and as the mutating bulb grew larger, it stretched and stretched, until it became a bookshelf.

Ron stared in astonishment as dust flew out of Arasar's bag and became books, and neatly fitted themselves onto the bookshelf, until only two and a half shelves were empty. Arasar took the other bulb out of the lamp and put it on the other side of the bed, where it expanded too, until it became a desk. Arasar realized his mistake too late and grimaced. His fingers brushed his shirt, and the desk spat out a chair to match it.

Ron's eyes bulged.

"How did you do all that?" he asked, while Arasar carefully propped the broom up against one side of the bookshelf.

"Advanced Transfiguration," said Arasar absently. "It was always my best subject."

He surveyed the half empty room.

"I need a closet," he murmured. "And a drawer. A carpet and some more clothes, a wand and some other stuff. I need to go to Diagon Alley again—bother it all!"

He crawled onto the bed.

"Note to self," Ron heard him mutter before the curtains flew together. "Change bed color. Don't know what Drick was thinking when he chose these colors…"

* * *

By the time Arasar was finished, the next day, the sun had already risen. The curtains were still scarlet, but his bed was dark blue, and most of his furniture was a dark or light brown. The diaries of Row, Azar, Drick and Helga were on the bookshelf, and the book that he used to communicate with them was on the desk, with inkpots full of green, brown. dark blue, mauve, black, and golden ink, as well as three raven feather quills. The only other thing on the desk was the greenstone Mavuge, on its own green cushion with silver threads streaming out from the four corners. His closet was next to the bookshelf, but Arasar had next to no dress sense and thought, rather, that he wouldn't risk transfiguring a handkerchief or something into a robe.

His window was now larger, and took up half of the northeast wall. Arasar had put a charm on it so he could see outside, but no one could see in. He needed to take off his locket while he was changing his room, and was feeling tired when he put it on again.

Glowing with excitement, at seven thirty in the morning, he took his broom and ran downstairs and burst out of the castle. Not even paying attention to the pale November snow, he took off.

The broom was beautiful. Arasar hadn't felt this good before, not even when he had ridden Rahon. The broom was faster, of course, than Rahon, and he was flying. Really flying. He barely noticed the cold temperature and the thin air as he went higher and higher; the rubber band that had tied his hair up snapped someplace, and his black hair flew behind him as he dived toward the ground again.

His green eyes glittered with excitement as he saw the ground speeding up to meet him. He knew exactly what to do, and pulled up at the last moment.

This time, he didn't go up again. Instead, he flew lowly, his toes brushing the dry, brown grass and parting the pale snow as he sped ahead. He was leaning forward so much that he was practically lying down on the broom. He turned sharply and flew up again, weaving through the goalposts.

He sighed with satisfaction as he finally jumped down from the broom and flicked at the snow that had somehow gotten in the twigs while he was flying. He checked his watch and saw that he had been flying for half an hour.

Someone behind him clapped.

Arasar turned around. McGonagall, Snape, Lupin and Dumbledore were facing him. Behind them were a few students he didn't really know.

Lupin was staring at him in thinly veiled wonder. McGonagall looked unusually gleeful, and Snape looked… sour. His white, sallow face twisted in disgust as he glared with open hatred at Arasar. Dumbledore simply looked amused.

"It's eight in the morning, Mr. Arasar," he commented. "You can't expect nobody to notice. You fly exceptionally well."

"Yes," agreed McGonagall. "I'll have to speak to Wood about you. Mr. P—Arasar, would you join the Gryffindor Quidditch team?-"

"Abso-_lute_-ly not," Snape snarled viciously. "Quidditch tryouts have long since been over. Headmaster, you would be showing partiality if you allowed Mr. Potter to join the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. It's against the rules!"

McGonagall glared at him.

But Arasar was staring at Lupin. The strangeness was stronger than ever, in the grounds. The scent of the trees mixed very well with his wild sort of smell, and Lupin knew Arasar thought there was something strange about him. He looked away as Arasar continued to look at him through narrowed eyes.

Snape and McGonagall were still arguing. Arasar and Dumbledore watched them, amused, for a while, and then Arasar said quite clearly:

"Professors, don't I get a say in this?"

They both jumped. Snape glared at Arasar again.

"Rules are rules," he insisted. McGonagall groaned. "You can't break them just because you're Harry Potter."

"I am not Harry Potter," Arasar corrected him, very politely. "I'm Arasar. Arasar Gryffindor-Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw-Slytherin, if you want to get technical, but that's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"

Snape went purple and opened his mouth to yell, but McGonagall beat him to it.

"What do you mean, Gryffindor-Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw-Slytherin?" she demanded, aiming her face at Arasar, who shrugged.

"They named me their heir when I came here," he explained, rather cheerfully. "So I'm their child in every way but blood. You _do_ know how the spell works, don't you?"

A small man who reminded Arasar of a house elf said, in a squeaky, excitable sort of voice:

"That spell belongs to the blood manipulation group of spells. Very advanced. It makes a person the Heir of one or more people, even though that person is not a child of the guardian by blood. I see you didn't have your looks changed."

"Row didn't want it," said Arasar. "She said I looked handsome the way I was, though I disagree. My hair's a bit… wild, you see."

"Just like your father's," said the small Professor, blissfully ignorant of the death glares both McGonagall and Snape were sending his way. "I'm Professor Flitwick. I'll be instructing you in Charms this very morning, Mr. Arasar—if that's what you want to be called?"

"Yes," said Arasar. "Thanks."

Before Snape could blow up again, Arasar turned to him, quite politely.

"I have no real wish to join in this game." he said. "Flying is enjoyable, but competing against others… It's not exactly my style, you see."

It was McGonagall who was bursting with rage this time.

"Mr. Potter," she said, completely forgetting what Arasar wished to be called, "House pride is at stake!"

Arasar looked at her apologetically.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "but I think this isn't really right. I see the Houses hate each other, rather, especially the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Quidditch makes it worse. I see no reason to make this rift between the houses even worse."

McGonagall didn't quite know what to say to this. Dumbledore looked approvingly at Arasar, Snape looked like McGonagall—confused, displeased and pleased at once—and Lupin looked amused, slightly. And approving. Arasar felt the strangeness emanating from him again, strongly, and strode away, broom slung over one shoulder.

Arasar's mind whirred helplessly as he walked back to the castle. He was sincere in not wanting to join the Gryffindor Quidditch Team—but he felt, in a way, that he was letting a lot of people down. Badly. And he hated letting people down.

He kept his eyes on his shoes to avoid stares as he headed towards the Great Hall. He needed to change those, too. He mentally put down 'Shoes' on the shopping list in his mind. He grabbed a piece of toast and munched on it absently as he pictured his schedule in his mind. Charms and Herbology in the morning, both with Hufflepuff, but Herbology was an hour away, and he had time to contact Drick, Azar, Row and Helga—if they weren't busy, of course.

* * *

_For some questions asked and others (issues) that weren't addressed:_

_No slash and no pairings so far. Arasar doesn't want guardianship. He's not super-powered; he has the magic of five people—including himself—but his training is limited. Dumbledore's knowledge (that he has now) took 150 years or so to collect, and it's slowly unfolding in his mind; no sudden burst of understanding and unlimited wisdom._

_Lupin's strangeness is lycanthropy, yes._

_Arasar doesn't not care about his real parents; he just never knew them and lets it be._

_Snape still disbelieves the fact that Arasar came from the past. Therefore, he continues to hate him._

_The Mavuge remains a mystery._

_Arasar thinks Harry is a revolting name._

_After Arasar went gallivanting a thousand years to the future, the four founders lived a nice life until Azar died. The Sorting Hat, which knows more than the founders in the past do, told Arasar that Azar had died. Which the four founders do /not/ know, naturally._

_"**crap**" said in an anonymous review_: "_i__ts sorta crap cuz there is no plot...dunno why you would want to reprint to be honest...care to explain?"_

_Answer: Of course there's no obvious plot so far; the story's barely started._

_I'm reposting it because a lot of people asked me to. And I don't bode too well with peer pressure. :P_

_If you don't like it, that's fine. Move on to stuff you enjoy more._

_Of course, you probably already did, and so you'll never read this, but I digress. :)_


	8. Charms

_Hey all. Sorry it took me so long to update; I have no good excuse. I was just lazy. I hate editing things. Writing is more fun._

_

* * *

_

Anticipating the conversation, Arasar went back to the dormitory. Before he went in, though, he considered the curtains.

Adding 'Magical Lock' to his mental list of things to buy, he went in and opened the book to talk to Drick, Azar, Row, and Helga, flipping past the first conversation. He picked a quill and dipped it in dark blue ink, then wrote:

_Anyone there?_

There was a pause.

**Hullo, Arasar.**

_Azar?_

**No, it's the friendly Chimaera next door. Of course it's me, you idiot. **

Arasar tapped the desk nervously. How was he going to tell Azar about… everything? That was the problem with knowing the future.

**So what's it like, there?**

Arasar wrote:

_You didn't leave a single record of your lives. How stupid of you! _

Helga joined in.

**Love, you forget that we can't change the future. We probably didn't leave a record because you just told us we didn't. **

Arasar's eyes widened. Trick!

**What happened in the future? **

It was Drick this time. Arasar grinned in relief. They weren't busy.

_House rivalries are pretty fierce, especially between Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses. It's really weird to hear you called 'Salazar Slytherin' and 'Godric Gryffindor'…_

**Huh. **

Arasar wrote, busily:

_And Drick found a way to sort the kids into your houses after you were gone. Drick actually got a mangy old hat and put a piece of his mind into it, so it could sort. And can you believe, it SINGS every year? _

**DRICK? **

**DRICK _SINGS_? **

**But Drick hates poetry!**

Three protests came through, all at the same time.

**HEY!**

Four, that was.

_And everyone seems to have built up an image of Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw that are SO not spot on. Yes, I did what you said and found this really powerful wizard—his name is Dumbledore—_

**Dumbledore? As in Bumblebee? **

**Yes. Shut up, Row. Arasar, get on with it.**

_Well, Dumbledore, who is like the most powerful wizard in the world. Did Row tell you about the Dark Lord? _

**The prophecy, too. Never believed in them. **

Arasar could almost see the cynical disbelief threaded into Drick's scornful black words.

**Prophecies can be true!** protested Helga, in her golden, loopy ink.

**No one really knows, **Row said sagely, in bronze cursive. **Half of them come true, half of them seem to come true but seem to be false at the same time.**

_Well,_ wrote Arasar, _at any rate, I went shopping yesterday, and it's worse than I thought. I went to Diagon Alley, which seems to have evolved around Gringotts—run by goblins, and protected by dragons, apparently—_

**COOL! **Azar's eager, slanting green letters shone on the page before they dried.

_Yes,_ Arasar wrote on, switching to his left hand because his right hand hurt. _And everyone here uses wands. _

**Everyone?** asked Helga.

_Everyone, _Arasar confirmed. _Amazing, isn't it?_

**Er, **said Row, returning to the previous subject. **House rivalries, you say? **

_Especially bad between Gryffindor and Slytherin, _Arasar wrote. _They call Row 'Rowena Ravenclaw'. _

There was a sudden splattering of bright, reddish bronze ink on the rest of the page, as if Row, in a quick movement, had accidently spilled the ink.

**Ah, **she said at last. **Stop sniggering, Helga!** she added.

Arasar quickly changed the subject. Row had a flaming temper.

_I found a Mavuge in a store there. Looks like an emerald, but darker than Azar's rocks. _

**Rocks!** Azar started, but Helga wrote **EHEM? **and shut him up.

Arasar continued.

_Bought it cheap. I bet the storekeeper didn't even know it was a Mavuge. According to Dumbledore's knowledge, Mavuges are practically nonexistent…_

He could almost hear the thoughtful, wistful pause through the book.

_They also have a sport called 'Quidditch',_he wrote, switching to his right hand and flicking the book straight again. _Riding brooms. Apparently my father was a natural, and half the teachers expect me to follow his footsteps._

Azar wrote, **SNORT.**

Arasar was about to ask how Rahon was doing, but the curtains flew open. Arasar scribbled a hasty _have to go_ and slammed the book shut. He wasn't about to tell anyone about the book.

Ron and Seamus were standing in the—doorway?—, looking very angry.

"You refused to play?" Ron more or less screamed. "Damn it, Arasar! McGonagall said you were a natural! That broom is brilliant, too! We could _flatten_ the Slytherins; we haven't won the cup for ten years! We could win! And _you_—"

Dean joined them, looking bored.

"I don't think it's that big of a deal," he said. "Arasar's life is his own. He can do whatever he wants with it."

Arasar wondered, as Ron's face turned the same shade of his hair and he opened his mouth—presumably to scream again—if he should slam the curtains shut. It was something you had to learn to do, when you were sharing a school with overeager schoolmates. And Ron was certainly overeager. Arasar had no idea whatsoever how to pacify him.

There were other kids, all with identical curious and outraged expressions, blocking the doorway. He repressed a sigh. "Then," he suggested, "why don't you play yourself?''

There was a stunned silence. Arasar doggedly plowed ahead of it, which was not unlike plowing through a mound of mushy porridge when you were full. "Why do you depend on me? I'm not anyone special. Do it yourself. You looked pretty talented to me. You like Quidditch."

Ron glared at him, but there was wistfulness mixed with his anger now.

"I don't have a decent broom," he said, glowering at Arasar, "like you do. And you're a natural. I'm not."

"That," said Arasar, "doesn't matter." He watched Ron open his mouth yet again. "To me, anyway," he added, and meaningfully turned his back to Ron. The curtains shut again.

"I should have expected that," he muttered. To distract himself, he carefully picked up the Mavuge up from the cushion, cupped it in his hands, and closed his eyes to feel it better.

It was very light. He could throw it up into the air and it would come down much more slowly than Azar's emeralds. He didn't think he would use Azar's dagger. It wasn't really his. He didn't think he could really use (or wear) any weapons and ornaments that they had left for the same reason.

Much of the Mavuge was half—or maybe a little less than half—magic. That was quite amazing. Magical Forgemasters might do it, if they really were masters and not frauds, and had sufficient experience. This must have been very valuable in its day. Dumbledore didn't know about it, though. It was as if it was anonymous.

As an experiment, Arasar pushed some of his magic into it.

The magic swirled around it. Arasar's eyebrows rose as the magic, rebounding and bouncing around the stone, actually doubled. He now knew what purpose the magic making up the structure of the Mavuge served. It doubled power. Amazing workmanship.

The stone didn't change color, but its color (somehow) turned deeper and more beautiful. Like a sea more green than blue. Arasar's eyes reflected the stone's glow. The tips of his mouth turned up as he smiled.

He sat there for a minute or so, turning the Mavuge around, over and over, taking in its perfect, curving edges and fingering it lovingly. He then pocketed it. The illusion on his robes was wearing off, becoming shabbier and shabbier and more like an ancient tunic than proper, modern (he laughed to himself at the word) robes. He shrugged. Illusions didn't hold for long. He strengthened the spell and headed for Charms.

He found his way easily enough by following Hermione from a discreet distance. He sat in the front and stared at the blackboard, seemingly lost in thought. He was, in fact, examining the files from Dumbledore and running through the third year Charms. When he thought he knew enough, he nodded, satisfied, and jerked out of his reverie.

By that time, most of the students had arrived. Flitwick himself was sitting in his chair, with five thick books for a cushion, and still his stomach barely reached the desk. He was eyeing Arasar with interest. Arasar gave him a pleasant look.

No one had really dared to sit with him, it seemed. Ron and Seamus were sitting at the next desk over. Ron hadn't still quite forgiven him, it seemed, and he avoided looking at Arasar and fiddled with his quill, glaring determinedly at it. Dean, however, shrugged at Arasar as he took his seat behind them, next to Neville. Hermione was sitting with a Ravenclaw Arasar didn't know—or he did, come to think of it. Padma Patil, the identical twin of Parvati Patil. Dumbledore saw them everyday at meals. Hermione seemed much more cheerful, which Arasar was thankful for.

The last student arrived, and Professor Flitwick cleared his throat to speak.

"Now that we have _finally_"—he emphasized the word, and there was a ripple of laughter in the classroom—"mastered the Rotation Spell, we will be moving on to Finding Charms, which is a minor version of Tracking Charms, which you will learn in your seventh year. Finding Charms are less tricky than Tracking Charms, which even Aurors sometimes have difficulty with. Unless there is a spell or ward concealing or protecting the object you are Finding, you will find it easy to perform once you master it. Of course, if there _is_ a spell or ward hiding it, you will require tracking charms… Now, the incantation is 'Excutio Excido', pronounce it correctly—"

This warning was aimed at Neville Longbottom, who blushed and looked away. Flitwick jerked his eyebrows up and down.

"If the charm is done correctly," he continued, "and the lost object is in close enough range, the object with glow, and the light can be seen even through walls. The more powerful the spell, the wider the range. It is most commonly used in the house."

Arasar found nothing complicated with it, though Ron looked dreadfully anxious.

Flitwick fell out of the chair—or perhaps he jumped out, it wasn't very easy to tell the difference—and clambered back onto the chair and plonked ten small cardboard boxes on the table.

"A Galleon," he explained, smiling, "is inside one of these boxes. Find it, and you can have it." Ron's face immediately lit up in a mixture of hopeless despair and longing.

Arasar knew how to pronounce the spell correctly, how to wave his wand—only he didn't have a wand—and how to push his magic out. But Finding Charms he had never learned from the Founders, and Dumbledore's knowledge was just that, knowledge. He needed experience.

With a feeling that it wouldn't be as easy as he thought it would be (but he preferred it that way, really), he stared at the boxes levelly. They were all identical looking. His fingers unconsciously slipped to the greenstone Mavuge as he kept staring at the boxes intently.

There were repeated, frustrated chants of 'Excutio Excido!', growing louder and louder as the students grew more and more frustrated. Arasar could hear Hermione quite clearly, once in a while, voice tight with concentration, pronouncing the words correctly and carefully. He paid her no mind and just stared at the boxes, muscles relaxed and stare blank.

Flitwick looked at him worriedly but didn't speak to him. Flitwick, thought Arasar, knew what a magical trance looked like. He knew that he looked rather like he was in one. But he could see the boxes, as clear as they were dim, and he was aware of everything around him, just as clear as they were hazy—and the boxes, the boxes, they—

Mustering the new, hazy concentration he had found, and carefully not thinking of anything important or focusing, because he knew very clearly (and dimly) that it would shatter his concentration, he slowly made it drift toward the boxes, until they were all around it, like a mist. But Arasar could see through it, and he was aware, very aware of the boxes, and what was inside them. They were all empty except one.

Still careful not to break his hazy concentration, he got up, like a zombie. The room hushed as he walked, dreamily, toward the table. Flitwick looked at him in anticipation.

Arasar put his hands over the boxes to make sure it was that one. The sureness doubled until Arasar could see inside the boxes, the darkness inside, with a thin line of light visible through the small crack caused by the uneven corners of the upside down boxes. He could see inside the Galleon, the scratched picture of a wand and a hat, a G for 'Galleon' on the side of the coin facing the desk, the gold inside. Still trancelike, his put his hands, both of them, on the small box and lifted it.

As soon as he lifted it, his concentration broke abruptly. His awareness extended to his classmates dumbfounded faces, and the Galleon was just that, an ordinary Galleon like any other. He almost couldn't even see the light scratch on it.

He angled the Galleon so it caught the light and stared at Flitwick's wide brown, amazed and doubtful eyes.

"I think I cheated, rather," he said apologetically.

Everyone looked at Flitwick, now.

Flitwick looked uncertain.

"Mr. Arasar," he said slowly, "your mother was a natural at Charms. One of the best I ever saw. But you—you are not merely a natural. You wandlessly performed a flawless Tracking Charm, wordlessly, too, and performed it well for a beginner. I guarantee—_guarantee!_—that with a bit of an effort, you can master every charm in the world—difficult or easy, it does not matter—"

Arasar cut him off quickly.

"I don't fancy that, really," he said in the same light, carefully apologetic tone. "I'd just like to be normal, thanks."

"But you must have extra lessons with me!" Flitwick insisted, wringing his hands. "You have an enormous amount of untrained talent!"

_Just like a mother hen, _Arasar thought crossly. _Just like McGonagall over me and Quidditch. Untrained talent indeed! It was probably just the Mavuge. The credit shouldn't go all to me._

"Perhaps you should talk it over with the Headmaster, sir," said Arasar politely. "In the meantime, I shall attempt to master the Finding Charm in an orthodox way."

He marched smartly back to his desk, seething. First, he'd wandlessly turned a boggart into a vase. Then, he'd transfigured his inkpot into a broom. Then got on the bad side of Snape, and then turned down Quidditch. And now this. He sighed. At least Flitwick hadn't commented on his wandless magic.

He couldn't wait for the bell to ring.

He was also acutely and painfully aware of everyone sneaking glances at him. He himself listlessly stared at the boxes and twiddled his thumbs. As soon as the bell rang, he leapt up with his bag in one hand and rushed out before anyone could say anything to him.

Consulting his schedule, he noted, with relief, that he had no more classes in the morning, and had two hours and fifteen minutes before Herbology. After that was Defense again. Thinking that he couldn't wait for the weekend, he went out to the grounds (after dropping in to the dormitory to take his Herbology and Defense book) and headed for Hagrid's cabin.

He quite liked Hagrid. Hagrid's niceness was as large as his bulk. Though Arasar thought he wasn't very sharp, Hagrid made up for that in his kindness and love for creatures. Azar and Hagrid, Arasar thought, would have gotten along fantastically. They both liked the same things.

He fingered the Mavuge with his left hand as he knocked on the door.

It opened almost immediately. Hagrid looked at him confusedly.

"Ah," he said, "come t'visit me, have yeh? Good timing. Class just ended."

"You're a teacher?" asked Arasar as he went in. "I didn't… er, know."

In fact, as he went in, Dumbledore's knowledge surfaced again. Hagrid was the teacher of Care of Magical Creatures. _Well, _thought Arasar, _Hagrid fits the job quite well._

"Oh, yeah," said Hagrid, beaming. Arasar could tell Hagrid was proud of being a teacher. "Me first year. Dumbledore came t'me when Professor Kettleburn went away and offered me th'job."

"Oh," said Arasar. "That's good."

"And with Remus back…" said Hagrid, heading over to a steaming kettle that had started to whistle weakly, "I can't ask for anythin' else."

"You know him?" Arasar asked sharply.

"Oh, yeah!" said Hagrid. "He used t'be all over the place with his friends. Infamous lot, they were."

The kettle started whistling vigorously, now. Hagrid waited next to it expectantly.

Arasar stared outside the window. One of those friends had been his blood father. How funny. The other was dead, killed by the one who went to prison. Strange history.

"They all ended up all wrong," said Hagrid regretfully, turning off the fire and taking the kettle to the table with two cups and a dish of rocks. "They should have all gone right. Two of them geniuses, and Remus had a great mind, too. Pity that he's—"

His eyes widened and he cleared his throat gruffly as he poured Arasar a cup. Arasar took it gladly and sipped. It had been cold outside, and his warm robe was now almost completely back to its old state of thousand-year-old fashion.

Arasar took another sip.

Hagrid opened his mouth to say something, presumably about the Founders, but the door burst open again. A sixth year rushed in, a boy wearing yellow and black.

_One of Helga's, is he?_ Arasar thought. The boy didn't notice him at first.

"Hagrid!" he exclaimed. "I just heard Malfoy a while back. He's going to make trouble for you, I guarantee it."

"Ah, don't worry," said Hagrid, taking another cup out of the cupboard and pouring some tea in it. "He'll be a'right."

The blonde Slytherin, Arasar remembered, who didn't like Hagrid. He also knew, from Dumbledore, that Malfoy had almost gotten Hagrid sacked because Hagrid had brought hippogriffs to his class, and one of the hippogriffs had slashed the boy on the arm. Luckily, no one trusted a son of a Death Eater much, and Hagrid had gotten off lightly.

The boy noticed Arasar at last and turned toward him.

"Oh!" he said. "Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Arasar," was the prompt correction. "Cedric Diggory?" Arasar added. Dumbledore knew him. He had him marked up to be Head Boy.

"Yes," said Cedric, grinning. "How'dja know?"

Arasar shrugged vaguely and grinned. Cedric surveyed him.

"I wish I could grow my hair like that," he said enviously. "My mum won't let me," he added regretfully.

Arasar downed the rest of his tea.

"Thanks for the tea, Hagrid," he said. "I'll drop by again."

He nodded at Cedric politely and went out.


	9. Author's Note

Hey, everyone. Er… I'm quitting fanfiction, so I'm not going to keep reposting this. If you want the unedited version of the story, though, up to where Amsuhl stopped writing it, PM me (or tell me in a review) your email address and I'll send you the file. It's a very long file. Like hundreds of pages. Beware.

Um, yeah. Sorry, everyone. Bye? This story isn't complete, but I'll say it is up there. -points- Yeah.


	10. The Rest i

Oy. I forgot to tell everybody to split up their email address when they give it to me or something to that extent, because over half the PMs/reviews I got had email addresses that didn't show up. And I got a /lot/ of reviews/PMs. I'm sorry, but I absolutely refuse to message each person back and ask them for their email address again - and some of those who gave me their emails (in reviews) were anonymous (reviews), too. So you know what? I'm just going to post the rest of the story, unedited here. Seeing as it's incredibly long, I'll probably randomly split it up, as the original author (Amsuhl) suggested I do. Here's the first portion.

I'm reposting the document with NO EDITING AT ALL. Keep that in mind. So Amsuhl's author's notes from, like, what, three years ago or something? - they'll all be in here.

Okay. Shutting up now.

Chapter Nine: Memories

It had been hard to get hold of a newspaper.

The entire population, for the last two days, had been extremely excited about something. Reporters swirmed around the place. Sirius didn't have much interests in life currently, except for running away from Aurors, but this excitement piqued his interest. He decided to find a newspaper to find out what it was.

It had been a frustrating search. Newspapers, Sirius though, were always there and rolling around when you didn't need them. But when you were searching for them, there was nothing on the streets.

He had been mislead several times by pieces of promising looking papers that were tissues or posters. Some of them had been posters of himself. The dog sniffed, annoyed, and gave a glad bark when he finally found a true newspaper- a real one, at last!

He picked it up gently with his teeth and trotted back to his cave.

It was easy to survive in the cave. He often went out hunting in the Forbidden Forest, but never ventured near Hogwarts. There were a lot of bad memories there, coupled with good memories, too. He went out begging, too, usually to muggles, who were often much more sympathetic than wizards. There was still half a loaf back there, for his supper.

He inched toward the left so he wouldn't attract attention and slunk into the cave.

He didn't bother to transform back. Being a dog made him feel the hunger less.

With some difficulty, he unfurled the crumpled newspaper clumsily with his paw and snout. When it was flat, he put both front paws on the paper, so it wouldn't fold again, and started to read.

Then he swayed with shock.

HARRY POTTER, RETURNED

The headline proclaimed in shockingly bright violet letters.

He didn't read more. He gently took his paws away and curled up in the corner, thinking. Harry, James's son. Sirius had almost completely forgotten about him. It had been hard to find information about what had happened to him- but Sirius had tried, and succeeded, in not thinking about him after he had discovered Harry had been missing for nine year. Nine years! The saviour of the wizarding world, no less. Harry. Sirius only had memories of him as an infant- with tiny finger and a cute giggle.

With a surge of energy, he rose again and trotted back to the paper to read more.

Beneath the ostentatious headline, there was a picture of Harry as a baby, and beneath that, the statement 'Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has refused to let the reporter enter Hogwarts and interview and photograph our hero, to our sorrow'.

Sirius gave a doggy snort and continued, eagerly.

'Harry Potter has been reported missing when he was four, when he mysteriously disappeared from his relatives house. There was no sign of intrusion and no clues to where he might have gone. For the last nine years, we assumed Harry James Potter, hero and famous for his defeat of the Dark Lord, Voldemort, when he was one, dead. We gave up searching.

But two days ago, students from Hogwarts, including this reporter's daughter, sent numerous owls to their families, exciting telling them about the return of Harry Potter. Headmaster Dumbledore refused comment, but Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, tells us that Harry Potter is extremely skilled at Transfiguration, and wandlessly transfigured an inkpot into a broom.

Regretfully, the rest of the teachers refused comment as well.

But the most amazing thing is that Minerva McGonagall has confirmed that Harry Potter has come back from the past. She says that Harry Potter is, without doubt, is from the time of the Founders. She also says that he has been living with them all the time he has been missing, and that he knows them quite well-'

The next part was torn, but there was more. Sirius skipped the missing sentences and continued reading from

'has confirmed that Harry Potter will continue his education in Hogwarts. For the information Headmaster Dumbledore gave us about the Founders, which he learned from Mr Potter, see page seven.'

There was no page seven. Sirius nosed the newspaper and picked it up and put it on a pile of newspapers he had collected and thought deeply. Harry was back. And he had come from the past. Sirius had no doubt that it was true that he really had been living with the Founders. In the corner, there was a picture of a corridor of Hogwarts. At the end of it, in the distance, there was a circled picture of a dark youth with long hair running ahead. Sirius couldn't see it very well, but if he stared at it enough, he could make out James's messiness in Harry's hair.

There was a sidenote.

'Professor M. McGonagall has also said that Mr Potter looks almost exactly like his father when he was young.'

The dog groaned. It was a sound that was not very much like a dog. The dog slunk out of the entrance to the cave and stared sadly at what he could see of Hogwarts from the hill.

He could actually see the Astronomy Tower quite clearly, behind the Forest. He wondered, desperately, what Harry really looked like. And- with a sharp pang that hurt his chest- if Harry, too, thought he was a murderer.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

_Father,_

_No doubt you have seen the papers. I hope you are doing well in service. _

_The rumours are true. He has returned, and I have spied on him several times. I think there is no doubt that it is truly him, not some desperate hoax dreamed up by Dumbledore or the Ministry. Are there any orders the Dark Lord wishes to give me about him?_

_Harry Potter, from what I have seen and the rumours circulating Hogwarts, is powerful. The students who have seen him in classes say he can work magic without the aid of a wand, and some say that he is an excellent flyer. Regretfully, I was unable to witness this spectacle, as he was flying at seven in the morning and I was eating at the Great Hall. _

_His appearance, despite the number of Gryffindors and some Hufflepuff females swooning over him, is quite ordinary. His hair is styled in a ridiculously... Wild fashion, and his height is normal. You might approve when I tell you I have done some research, and can tell you that he looks very much like his father._

_Please inform the Dark Lord that the majority of the Slytherins are all loyal to him and are ready to give him their support any time. I apologize for the short and informal letter, the muggle loving fool has spies everywhere-_

_From your obedient son_

_Draco _

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar, on the other hand, had no idea about swooning females. He was smelling the wild scent of the forest as he walked into the more dangerous paths of the Forest. His watch said he had plenty of time before Herbology, and dimly, in the back of his mind, he was thankful Herbology required no great magic. It was all just herblore and sharp wit, and he would be evenly matched with everyone else, which he definetely preferred... Simple.

He found himself examining Dumbledore's files again with interest. Especially the Transfiguration ones. He was immersed in thoughts, memories and pieces of knowledge about Animagi and was thinking about becoming one, in a dreamy, wistful way when he found he was lost.

He had strayed from the path. Bother! he thought, checking his watch. He had an hour to find his way back. He tried to retrace his steps but failed.

Bother! he thought again, crossly. He quickly looked around for the tallest tree there was and climbed up it, throwing his robes on the ground and shivering in his shirt and trousers and wincing as snow cut him bloodlessly with it's keen, icy cold.

He was at the top before long. He scanned the green distance and found the castle, right behind him. He figured out he'd been walking in circles, and cursed with annoyance.

He scrambled down and put on his robes, which was now completely untransfigured. Arasar, with another curse, thought at last to perform a warming-charm and walked back to the castle when he spotted a black figure racing past him.

It was headed toward Hogwarts, too. Arasar sedately followed, briskly walking behind it. It was easy to see where it had gone, because it had been rather large and there were large footprints in the pale, weak snow and crumpled twigs and disturbed swarms of bowtruckles.

_Tree-guardians_, his brain supplied. Arasar pushed away the knowledge, impatiently, it must be admitted, and headed toward Hogwarts.

He saw the castle in a few minutes. Walk quickening, he spotted his own bag- amazingly, he had found the same path he had started from, and bent to pick it up. But he bent up again and started back when he saw a black bearlike- _thing _standing besides it. Arasar simply had not seen it. He relaxed and let his hands drop from the defensive stance- he didn't remember putting them up, actually- and stared at it.

It was just a dog. It was staring at him as wonderingly as Arasar was staring at it. Arasar nodded at it coolly and gave it a clear, firm animal message that told it, equally clearly and firmly, to go away. It jumped and backed away, then with a giant spring, it turned and ran.

_Well, that's that. _Arasar thought and picked up his bag to head over to the greenhouses. He was just in time to squeeze in between two student and look perfectly innocent.

He picked up the carnivorous plants they were dealing with today and performed everything normally, determined not to draw attention. Students glanced at him every once in a while, and Arasar knew they were thinking: '_What stunt is he going to pull this time?' _

It annoyed him.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lucius Malfoy laughed quietly as he bent over his son's letter. Draco was as transparent as finely cut glass. It was easy to figure out his true feelings in his words.

_Father,_

_No doubt you have seen the papers. I hope you are doing well in service. _

_Translation: Father, I trust you've heard the rumours. Hopefully you have not been tortured too many times in the service of the Dark Lord._

_The rumours are true. He has returned, and I have spied on him several times. I think there is no doubt that it is truly him, not some desperate hoax dreamed up by Dumbledore or the Ministry. Are there any orders the Dark Lord wishes to give me about him?_

_Translation: Harry Potter is really back. I've glimpsed him sometimes. I think it's really him, not a joke or something. Let's hope the Dark Lord regards me as a useful spy, not an active agent. I haven't got the guts for murdering the brat._

_Harry Potter, from what I have seen and the rumours circulating Hogwarts, is powerful. The students who have seen him in classes say he can work magic without the aid of a wand, and some say that he is an excellent flyer. Regretfully, I was unable to witness this spectacle, as he was flying at seven in the morning and I was eating at the Great Hall. _

_Translation: Harry Potter, from what I've seen and heard, is powerful. They say he can do wandless magic, and they say he can fly well. I didn't see it, as I was eating._

_His appearance, despite the number of Gryffindors and some Hufflepuff females swooning over him, is quite ordinary. His hair is styled in a ridiculously... Wild fashion, and his height is normal. You might approve when I tell you I have done some research, and can tell you that he looks very much like his father._

_Translation: I wish I had girls swooning over me. I wish I had his hairstyle, and I've not done any research. _

_Please inform the Dark Lord that the majority of the Slytherins are all loyal to him and are ready to give him their support any time. I apologize for the short and informal letter, the muggle loving fool has spies everywhere-_

_Translation: The Slytherins are, as usual, Slytherins, but all the credit should go to me. Sorry for the informal letter, it's the only way I can write and I haven't mastered the traditional flowery Malfoy letters yet._

_From your obedient son_

_Draco _

_Translation: From Draco._

Lucius Malfoy shrugged thoughtfully, and with a deep breath and nerving himself up, he went out to take the news to the Dark Lord.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar stood uneasily outside the classroom. His watch showed that it was approximately thirty seconds before the bell rang again, and he definetely had to go in. The strangeness about Lupin, though not extremely disturbing, was rather unsettling. His hand shook on the doorknob as the seconds ticked by. He hated not knowing things. And Lupin was definitely a mystery.

He opened the door.

They all looked up. The bell rang at that moment. Arasar coolly took a seat next to Hermione and watched Lupin.

He could tell that Lupin was unsettled by him as he was unsettled by Lupin. He fidgeted and wouldn't meet Arasar's eyes. How strange. But, Arasar thought, if he looked that much like his father, and his father had been Lupin's best friend, he _would_ be unsettled, since Arasar didn't seem to like Lupin. Arasar realized his mistake. He didn't really dislike Lupin, just thought he was strange. But Lupin had taken his wariness for hostility, and had been rather hurt by it- How stupid of me! Arasar thought. I didn't mean to hurt his feelings. He tried to make up for it by giving Lupin a friendly sort of smile.

Unfortunately, friendly smiles were something Arasar was not good at. What came out was a vague, searching look that looked more like a knowing smirk than a friendly smile. Arasar gave up in despair and settled for shrugging at Hermione.

"Why were you late?" she hissed to Arasar as Lupin, with some relief, turned to the blackboard and started writing.

"I was not late." said Arasar with immense dignity. "I came before the bell rang."

Hermione looked at him with deep disgust.

"If I were you, and if I were as smart as you," said Arasar, tapping his quill so it would write down what was being written on the blackboard- several students gave him envious looks- Arasar could tell that they were dying to know how he was doing it. "I would take a moment to observe what your schoolmates like. With your brain, you should be able to see that academics aren't that important to them. They prefer to relax and have fun."

She gave Arasar a confused look- outraged, uncertain, and unsteady.

"Well, it's just the way I live." she said haughtily and took notes in the ordinary way. Arasar shrugged again, as if to say '_your loss.'_

Arasar read what his quill was scribbling away furiously with some interest.

'Usually, children should learn how to face and defeat Boggarts at an early age, when they do not know much about the more dangerous side of the world. Their worst fears tend to be childish and therefore, easy to get rid of.'

It made sense, thought Arasar, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Children tended to be innocent. But what about that Dementor? He'd never seen a Dementor, had he?

He frowned. He remembered something- when he had been very young, he knew, before he came to live with Azar, Drick, Row and Helga- but the time before that had been very vague and somehow- he didn't want to remember at all...

But curiousity won over his subconscious reluctance. With a jolt, he was pulled back into the past, and his memory was as vivid and real as the present.

_Flashback_

_He had not wanted to come._

_But the fat blond boy had insisted on buying his own Christmas presents. The fat boy was about four, but Arasar himself looked like three. He was thin, with lank hair and tired looking green eyes with a pale complexion and a tired, staggering sort of walk. The fat boy did not care for him at all and oft made a sport of chasing him and hitting him..._

_Dudley__._

_That was the fat boy's name. With his parent, Petunia and Vernon Dursley- and the 'Freak' to accompany them, of course- can't have that dratted nuisance burn down the house or something, yes, best bring him along and hope he doesn't make any trouble, Petunia-_

_The fat boy squealed excitedly at the sight of a newest remote controlled car. Arasar had run a wistful eye over it and had wished he could have it himself- but of course not..._

_It was then that Dudley, who was running toward the next store, frantically pursued by Petunia, suddenly stopped, wrapped his fat arms about himself and had slowly knelt on the ground, shivering, with a blank, cold look on his face. Petunia hurried to him and froze also, the same blank expression on her face, but with fear and hatred mixed. _

_Vernon__ ran toward them, too. The other people around a certain perimeter also had strange looks on their faces, but most of them shook their heads, wrapped their scarves around themselves more tightly and fled. Only Arasar could see the thing with a black, tattered cloak around it, with a hood, scabby, ruined fingers that were impossibly long- and there was the feeling, the cold that seeped into Arasar's mind- And in the winter, it had the worst effect, for the cold temperature enhanced the winter air and made him shiver uncontrollably until he had fainted- with screaming vibrating in his ears-_

"You all right?"

Ron's loud voice was unbelievably warm and normal and jerked Arasar out of his icy memory. Everyone was staring him again. Arasar felt sharp annoyance tug at his mind.

"Yes." he said bitingly. "Just remembering the first time I encountered a dementor."

He shouldn't have said it. Everyone looked interested- Lupin especially so.

"When I was four." he said. "A few months before I disappeared." He adopted a mocking tone. "Spirited away by mysterious beings."

Everyone laughed in a way that was not quite right. Lupin looked at him concernedly, shrugged and went on teaching. Arasar barely heard him. He kept replaying the memory in his mind- the cold way the icy tendrils of the Dementor's power had crept into his mind, frozen it and the woman's tight, hauntingly _familiar _screams-

Familiar?

He stared unseeingly at the blackboard as he kept hearing the soundless scream in his mind. There were words in it too, but he couldn't quite remember, and he wasn't about to sink into his bad memories again. He tried to push them away, but the screams would still haunt his nightmares for a period of time.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Next Chapter begins with a staff meeting. Yes, I know I'm evil. Thank you for thinking so. I had those bloody, stinking exams coming along, had them today. I'm pretty sure I got at least half of the stuff wrong.

Chapter ten: Power

Disclaimer: If I were JK Rowling, I wouldn't be writing this.

Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Filius Flitwick, Albus Dumbledore, Pomona Sprout, Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid and Rolanda Hooch were the only ones sitting around the table in the staffroom, next to a healthily crackling fire for the friday staff meeting, a few hours before dinner. Sybil Trelawney had said that attending staff meetings clouded her inner eye and exposed her to unnecessarily mundane matters. Professor Vector was called away, and Argus Filch couldn't abide other wizards. In front of this scantily assembled meeting, Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"I'm sure many of you have the same thing on your minds." he said.

"Harry Potter." chorused Flitwick and McGonagall at the same time. Snape said it with disgust he didn't even bother to conceal. Remus Lupin said it quietly, almost regretfully. Rolanda Hooch said it enthusiastically, and Sprout neutrally. And Albus Dumbledore smiled.

"Yes." he said. "Wait before commenting, please. Minerva first."

McGonagall launched into an enthusiastic tirade.

"Potter is a natural." she began. "He's a natural and is, in my opinion, as brilliant as his father. He changed- wandlessly!- an inkpot into a broom, something he should be learning six months or an year later. My opinion is that he should be moved up a grade or so-"

"Out of question." said Dumbledore in an unusually brusque tone. "Harry Potter can pass his NEWTs now if he wants. He's just attending Hogwarts to fit in."

"WHAT?" screeched at least three teachers. One of them included Snape.

"Headmaster, you can't be serious!" he protested. "He's just a boy, and is average at potions. You- all of you are just biased and blinded with his fame. He's just an arrogant fraud when you see past all his glamourous celebrity status."

"I suppose you are experiencing more than just a pang of jealousy, Snape?" said Lupin in angrily, tauntingly. They all stared at him. Lupin was _known_ for his mildness, and never raising his voice to anyone- even Severus Snape, who was equally famous for his bitter, partial to Slytherins and acerbic nature.

"Quiet." said Dumbledore. The whole room hushed, though Lupin and Snape glared at each other. "Severus, I trust you've said all there is to be said. Filius...?"

The short man bounced.

"I was teaching the finding charm to the students," he said. "When Mr Potter, without a wand, abruptly went into trance and performed a rather good Tracking Charm. A finding charm, as you know, makes the object glow- but Mr Potter saw through the boxes. I could tell from the way he looked."

"How amazing." said Snape in a bored tone. "Another trick, no doubt."

"Severus!" Dumbledore reprimanded. Lupin closed his eyes and kneaded at his temples.

"Yes, all of you know that Mr Potter banished the Dementor with the finest Patronus I've ever seen." he said. "The Dementor- Boggart, actually- shattered. Today, when I was teaching the students about the importantness of teaching children from a young age how to defeat of Boggart, when Ha- Mr Potter seemed to be in a light trance. Mr Weasley woke him up and Mr Potter said- I think accidentally, actually, because he's not one to spill his secrets when he's conscious- that he was remembering the first time he had encountered a dementor. He seemed quite disturbed over the memory."

After this speech, he leaned back on his chair and just looked at them, looking pale and subdued. Dumbledore remembered the full moon had been over on Tuesday- the very day when Arasar had arrived, in fact, and coughed gently, as if warning Lupin not to get too excited. Lupin shot back another look, which clearly said_ I know that. You're not helping._

They all looked sober. Snape looked nasty.

"Well," he said acidly. "Mr Potter seems quite ready to face the Dark Lord. I say that we train him as best as we can and send him off."

Everyone looked shocked, and some angry red came back to Lupin's tired, pale face and transformed his mild brown eyes to furious golden ones. Dumbledore, as the only one who knew that Snape was actually talking about the Prophecy, albeit in subtly hidden words, sat up and glared as indignantly as Lupin.

"Severus." he said in a mild, but icily furious voice. "For the sake of your health, I suggest you don't say anything for the next few minutes."

"Forever is fine with me." muttered Madam Hooch. "That boy is the finest flier I've seen in almost all my life. And you think to 'send him off'- really!"

"Best student at transfiguration." murmured McGonagall.

"Best at Charms." murmured Flitwick, almost as quietly. It would have not been heard if he hadn't his high, squeaky voice.

"Talented in Herbology." said Sprout. "Not as good as Longbottom, of course, who is a genius with plants-"

Snape, who was still remembering Dumbledore's warning, did not say anything but snorted contemptuously.

"Very well." said Dumbledore sharply. "This meeting is not entirely about Mr Potter. I will now turn this conversation to the matter of the problem of the Hufflepuff seventh years, who have been..."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar saw the black dog quite a lot on Friday, who seemed to be everywhere. On the grounds, in the garden, speeding in and out of secret passageways, weaving between pillars and shadowing Arasar. However, it ran away whenever Arasar turned to look at it. As a result, the dog was only seen out of the corner of his eyes, and Arasar would have thought it was an illusion, but for the fact that his other senses, smell, hearing, earth elemental magic, air elemental magic and just simple instinct, that all told him that there was a dark furry canine tailing him everywhere.

Arasar didn't really mind. The dog meant him no harm, he knew, and it wasn't all that annoying. He was eagerly awaiting the weekend, so he could go to Diagon Alley to shop. Ron hadn't still quite forgiven him, and Arasar was wanting to escape the tight, tense atmosphere of the dormitory. But he still didn't regret refusing the offer to play on the Gryffindor Team, because competing wasn't just what he was used to doing. A friendly game was fine, but Arasar had never understood how competition inspired people.

This attitude, thought Arasar as he picked up his fork, had always annoyed Azar, who said it reminded him uncomfortably of Drick, who always, when challenged to one thing or another, whether a duel or a game of gobstones, just lazily sat there and just coolly did everything in a lazy, careless way, while his oppenent put forth his fiery best. When someone managed to somehow get Drick to play something with him, that was...

Row had always said that it was very inconvenient, because they couldn't measure how good Drick was at anything. Drick, to Arasar's mind, could do anything if he really wanted to. But he never did.

He neatly speared a piece of chicken and ate it, and was leaning forward to get some more mashed potatoes before it was all devoured, but he caught sight of Dumbledore, who was fixing his piercingly blue gaze on him, and sent him a clear mental message

_I need to talk to you._

Arasar shrugged at him to tell him he'd heard. Dumbledore looked faintly satisfied and slung his beard over his shoulder to return to his meal. Arasar dutifully shoveled some mashed potatoes into his mouth and took a sip of his pumpkin juice. Hermione looked at him appreciatively over the bowed heads of Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan, who were stuffing themselves full of everything, as if to say '_Well, at least you are well mannered!'_

Arasar looked at Ron, faintly distastefully. He carefully put one leg over the bench soundlessly, and using a healthy combination of experienced sneakiness and his shadow magic, managed to walk to the door and go out without attracting any attention.

Dumbledore had somehow managed to come out too. He was waiting for Arasar.

"You needed to talk to me, sir?" asked Arasar politely.

"Yes." he said gravely. "To be quite frank, Arasar, you have power. You have the magic of five people and a hundred and fifty years worth of knowledge, paired with an almost complete education. But you lack experience, which will be the most important factor in your defeating Voldemort."

"No avoiding the prophecy, eh?" said Arasar in an annoyed tone. "Fine! What horrors do you have prepared for me _now_?"

"Not that bad," protested Dumbledore. "You have a few extra lessons with Professor Lupin- concerning you learning a few new charms and spells that have been invented since the Founder's time, because knowledge isn't experience, and I've asked the Head Auror to send along a competent Auror to train you for a few months."

Arasar closed his eyes in horror. Training! And there was Lupin, who thought Arasar hated him. How maddening.

"Yes." he said in a resigned tone. "Yes. When does this all start?"

"You have your first lesson with Professor Lupin, eight PM on Monday." said Dumbledore unregretfully. "I know you're going again to Diagon Alley tomorrow-"

_Where does this man get his information, anyway!?_

"And," continued Dumbledore, quite unaware of Arasar's thoughts, "You'll have to be careful, and I suggest you put on a disguise on yourself and Apparate back here at the first sign of trouble."

"For the sake of lemon drops!" protested Arasar, Dumbledore's favorite curse _accidentally_ slipping out of his mouth. "I'm not a _baby_, Headmaster!"

"Of course you aren't." said Dumbledore in a tone that wouldn't have convinced a Knarl, though that wasn't saying much. "Keep that piece of advice in mind, Arasar. And remember, eight o clock on Monday, Professor Lupin's office."

Arasar watched him slide back into the Great Hall for the rest of his dinner. Arasar, on the other hand, had entirely lost his appetite and decided to go out for a walk.

It was freezing outside, but Arasar had expected that. Setting off at a run, a wild grin on his face, irritation forgotten, he stretched his arms wide and prepared to do what he had watched Row do many times, enviously. Pumping his legs up and down faster and faster, his breath came out in ragged white clouds that were whipped away from him as soon as they were released. A black dog that was watching him surpressed an alarmed bark, because for a moment, it looked as if the boy was about to plunge into the lake. In this temperature, that could be fatal- especially with the creatures that lived inside the lake, not all of them benevolent...

Then the boy jumped.

And kept going up. Almost like a dream, he moved to the left, toward the forest, gliding. It was almost as good as riding a broom, but his broom was in the dormitory, and he hadn't wanted to go all the way up there. Besides, he had always wanted to try this out. He flipped so his stomach faced the star studded sky, and dived backwards.

The sudden movement made his locket float for a moment, in the air. For that moment, the surpressed magic in his body burst, and his entire being glowed in the sky, like a flaming comet being hurled down toward the earth. Then, as Arasar slowed down, alarmed by the sudden euphoric feeling of control and power, the locket bounced on his chest and settled down.

He stepped down on the lake, which shimmered and made little ripples that made the reflection of the moon- three quarters, now, blur in the water, as if the sky had split into ribbons. Arasar watched it in wonder for a moment, and stepped, causing another flurry of ripples, forward and onto the ground.

The only one who witnessed this was the dog, which stared at him from a safe distance as he stretched, once, shrugged his shoulders up and down and rotated his head. Letting out a satisfied, relaxed sigh that the dog could hear even from this distance, the figure strode back toward the castle, seemingly unaffected by the cold.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar was fully reconciled to the fact that he had even more disgustingly stupid things in store for him by the time he was finished flying. He now understood why Row always went out to fly after she was stressed. Flying, though he thought he enjoyed broomsticks more, had a way of making you perfectly match the cadence of the air, which was helpful if you were an air elemental. This was great!

His broom was lying on his knees that very moment, and his feet rested on the bed. There was a carving quill in his hand, specially designed so your hand didn't slip on a less than flat surface. He pondered.

The broom needed a name. He couldn't just call it 'the broom'. This had played a part in reconciling Arasar, because this thought had struck Arasar as he had been trudging, gloomy and brooding, up the stairs. Lit with anticipation, he had dived into his room and started thinking of good names for a broom, which swept away his annoyance.

'Lightning' was too unoriginal. A name of a bird, perhaps?

A fiendish grin crept on his face as inspiration struck him. He would choose an extremely _muggle_ name, one that was bound to annoy Voldemort and all the other pureblood bigots.

He scribbled, not bothering to make the inscription neat

_Supersonic 952_

He smiled at it, face lighting up in pure pleasure. 952 was a silent tribute to the Founder's time. It was an excellent name. Wondering, with gleefulness that could not quite be called saintly, what everyone would make of .

He made a mistake of looking out of the window, still grinning, when he saw again the black dog, a smear of darkness on the moonlit grounds. The smile slipped from his face as Arasar looked at it, because Arasar could feel, quite strongly, a hostile feeling from the dog radiated _right at him_.

But why? Voldemort, perhaps? Why would a strange dog's attention be focused on him? A dog that seemed much more intelligent than a normal dog, a dog that practically _shadowed_ him.

Definitely suspicious.

Narrowing his eyes, Arasar carefully put the broom to one side, next to the bed, and shut the curtains more firmly and cast a basic, but strong, warding charm on it. Turning off the light, he closed his eyes.

The idea came to him, when he was half asleep, and trying to pull sleep toward him even more, that he could get rid of the dog by himself. Now, with the power of five people, his elemental skills, he could kill the dog quite easily-

Appalled at the thought, Arasar burrowed into his blankets even more, trying to cast away the thought. He wasn't a killer, he knew that. He wasn't _afraid_ of killing anything- just didn't like it. A person, he thought as sleep finally washed over him, shouldn't have the power to kill another living creature. But that's what happens when people are stronger than other people, that makes them able to kill them.

Horrified, he turned his face up toward the ceiling, green eyes glinting like a cat's, reflecting the practically nonexistent light. Why did people kill other people? Just because they _could?_ But that was a stupid reason!

He remembered the way he had felt, just an hour before, when the locket had lost contact with his skin for the barest moment. Hadn't he felt like he could do anything? Even kill something without any trouble at all?

He also remembered feeling like reality had faded in color and in luster, feeding him until he was like a burning sun in a gray, dull world. The world- and the life in it- _everything- _had been feeble, compared to his power and what that power could do to it. Perhaps that was why Voldemort killed? Because he felt that other lives didn't amount to much?

"Oh, that's just stupid." he muttered to the blanket. He fell asleep then, and fell into another nightmare- one where everything in front of him was black and all he could smell was the sharp, cold smell of dementors, which hurt his nose, and all he could feel was nothingness, and worst of all- all he could hear was the woman's screams, and there was nothing he could do to help her.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Yah, pretty gloomy end. That's because I'm gloomy. Turns out that I got three questions wrong that I ought to have gotten right. And what's worse, I can see my bleak future spreading out in front of me, gray, gloomy and endless. I'll have to struggle for another grim three years in middle high, after I graduate elementary, where I just KNOW I'll mess up everything, and after that there's high school and college and after that- a life of poverty.

At least there's vacation! I'll spend it lying on my bed and screaming.

Next update will be as soon as I find my brain. Yay, my first two digit chapter story. Wowee.

Chapter eleven: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: If I were JK Rowling, I wouldn't say that my life is ruined and just move on. To my bleak future.

_Sirius: Flashback_

_Azkaban was a gloomy place._

_Sirius was on the corner, the farthest one from the bars, so the effect Dementors would have on him would be less. Not that it helped much. His mind worked slowly, sluggishly, but he was much saner than the man opposite of him- Rabastan Lestrange, who was, with him, in the 'Highly Dangerous Criminals' section of Azkaban._

_He didn't look very dangerous then. He was huddled in a pathetic, dirty, heap. Sirius's lip curled up in a scornful sneer, though he wasn't much better himself. At least his mind was working. Or not. Sometimes he just couldn't tell._

_Escape was something that he didn't think of very much. He didn't even know he could, because the fact never crossed his mind. All he did was hang on sluggishly onto Life, trying not to die, because he knew there was so much more than Azkaban to the world, because he remembered what it was like outside._

_Remembering pleasant memories was not something prisoners of Azkaban did very much. They were too occupied with replaying their worst memories. Most of the prisoners remembered the Cruciatus curses they had experienced. They feared Voldemort- and would not hesitate to serve him. Though Sirius didn't know it, Voldemort had raided Azkaban many times, but had always failed to reach this particular section of it. Dumbledore had installed new wards, and Dementors- the ones that could be captured were sent back to Azkaban with compulsion spells on them, strong ones, to keep the prisoners down and suffering._

_Sirius's black, furry tail thumped on the ground weakly, causing clouds of dust to rise up around him. He sneezed and with an effort, stopped his tail from wagging. Trying to remember good things was the only defense, a feeble defense, but a defense, nonetheless, he had against Dementors._

_It was then that he became struck with the possibility of escape._

_His head rose, and his pale eyes blinked disturbedly. Escape was like a wisp of a dream, elusive and impossible. He had never thought of it before. Why now? What memory had triggered that word?_

_It was impossible, anyway. The dog, depressed again, put his head down again. What if he did escape? There was nothing that awaited him outside. He had been near Dementors too long to recall the joy of being able to be happy without the happiness being taken away as soon as it was evoked. For this reason, he thought that the world was no better than Azkaban, and it was a world that hated him, anyway. There was no use going out, no point, since Remus hated him and Harry hated him, James hated him and Lily-_

_James and Lily are dead._

_He remembered that again and felt a rising sense of empty loss inside. And of Harry he had no idea._

_And Peter-_

_He hadn't thought about Peter in years, either, but the single word that he had thought electrified him. He stood up, and his tail arched behind him, his body stiffened with rage at the thought of the treacherous rat. Even thinking of him sent quivers of rage up and down his spine. Peter! Peter, who should have gone to Azkaban, not him. Peter who had sent him here in the first place. Peter, who had killed Lily and James._

_This was the best reason for escaping. There was nothing for him out there, but gray bleakness- and he couldn't find Peter, probably, anyway, there were billions of rats in the world, but Sirius didn't think of that. Revenge and only revenge was in his mind, and that very week, he escaped._

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

_He had come to his senses as soon as he had escaped, the alarms went crazy, but his mind felt fresh and clear, clean from the black taint of the Dementors, and he was able to think without even the freedom of thinking being taken from him. His weak muscles felt light and energetic, and his tail wagged even as he swam._

_But coming to his senses also meant that he realized that finding Wormtail was nearly impossible. He growled as his paws worked furiously at the ocean, as the currents tried to take him back. But at least he was free. Being free was much better than being in Azkaban, though tearing out Wormtail's throat would be doubly satisfying..._

_You can't have everything in life, he thought, resigned. At least he was free._

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

He was a lightly freckled, tanned boy with a very shortly cut blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes, almost exactly like Dumbledore's. He was whistling as he walked down the street, dressed in baggy trousers, a shirt with white letters SUPERSONIC splashed on it, and a patched robe that Arasar had modeled from Lupin's daily costume. He was probably very poor, Arasar thought as he wriggled inside his disguise, for some reason. Why? He was a good teacher. He could get a decent job anywhere. He wasn't a stupid man, either.

He first went to Madam Malkin's to be measure, and order a full wardrobe- three black robes for casual wear, a dark blue one that caught his fancy, and a dress robe that was made of Acromantula silk, which looked like an ordinary gray robe at a casual glance, but reflected light beautifully, like liquid water.

"What date is it?" he asked as the assistant scurried over to him to measure his elbows again.

"December first." said the assistant as he pushed a rack away from him to access to a second one. "Christmas soon."

"Ah." said Arasar. "Right."

Another memory rose, this time one of a frequently celebrated holiday. An amused smile tipped the corners of his mouth up as he realized what mistletoe was.

"And with everyone short of money," continued the assistant, eyeing a cloth sample critically. "No one can get decent presents for family or anything. Too caught up in the war."

"That's too bad." said Arasar politely. But he meant it.

"That's done!" said the assistant. "You can come back in an hour or so."

"Thanks." said Arasar.

He thought that he'd get some Christmas presents for a few people. Ron, for one. Apologetic card, too. Hermione needed some cheering up. He might send something to Dumbledore as a joke.

With this in mind, he went to Gringotts to exchange Galleons to muggle money and then left Diagon Alley by the Leaky Cauldron and entered Muggle London.

It was gloomy here, too. The war, which muggles didn't even know about, had laid it's hand on London, and hadn't pressed lightly, either. There was a mist that was not quite natural, which was probably a result of stray dementors. There were more than just a few ruined buildings, and the streets was nearly as empty as Diagon Alley. A word came to Arasar which described the place perfectly.

Arasar entered a crowded mall and picked out the most dizzyingly colored pair of socks he could find, violently red and black, with splashed dots of silver and green mixed, along with stripes of puce and murky colored green. Just right.

He paid for it and dropped it into his bag, which he had charmed to look like a backpack, which would look more natural. He spotted the bookstore and headed there, next.

Arasar flipped out books from the fiction section at random and read the backs with great interest and amusement. Demons? The Speech that all things understood? Very unrealistic, but it was amusing, all the same. He hefted a pile of the books he had chosen- 'Sabriel', 'Lirael', 'Abhorsen' were the first to join his pile. After picking up a book called 'Raven's Gate' he went to the register and paid for all of them.

He found himself thinking that Hermione wouldn't like reading fiction very much. Maybe a book full of ancient latin names and complicated words, technical paragraphs- but she wasn't the kind of person who like fiction...

Arasar shrugged. She might like them.

After putting them into his pack, he went out of the ball, buying a hollow crystal ball with an angel holding a carol book in it on the way- for Ron- it was Arasar's idea of a joke- and went back to Madam Malkin's.

The robes still weren't ready. They told him to come back a few minutes later. Arasar, hefting up his bag again, found a shop that sold wands.

He didn't really want to go to Ollivanders. Dumbledore's knowledge of the man showed that he was somewhat- eccentric, and could see through most disguises. Arasar didn't want to risk that.

The bell tinkled as he went in.

"Wands?" the woman in the back asked.

"What else?" said Arasar laughingly. "Handmade, please."

"Handmade?" she said doubtfully. Arasar could hear her shuffling in the back.

She made an exclaiming noise that sounded like 'Oh, here it is-' but Arasar couldn't be sure-

She came out toward him, a tall woman with a mole on her left cheek. She reminded Arasar of McGonagall, in her tall, looming way.

"Fill this out, please." she said, brandishing a piece of parchment at it.

Arasar took out a muggle pen and coolly started checking the first boxes.

1 'Are you'

a) left handed? b) right handed? c) ambidextrous?

2 'Do you prefer' (You may check more than one box)

a)swimming? b)flying? c)reading? d)playing logical games?

Arasar looked at it, nonplussed. The first question was fairly reasonable, but why the heck did they need to know all his hobbies?

He must had said the last words aloud, because the woman said at once, swiftly,

"Your wand has to match your personality."

"Oh." said Arasar dourly and flicked his pen at C in the first question and A and B in the second and moved on.

After five tiring minutes of flicking his pen at the boxes with his hand, steadily starting to ache, he was finished. The woman seized the piece of paper and nodded, skimming down it.

"Ambidextrous?" she murmured, sounding impresse. "Plenty of talent there, young man. Favorite color silver... Huh. Unusual combination. Blood type?"

Arasar frantically searched his mind.

"Er, AB." he said. He knew it was right.

"Even more unusual." the woman muttered. "Do you know what your animagus form is?"

"No." said Arasar defiantly.

"Not a pureblood, then." she said. "Half blood, eh? Yes, well. I think I can get a decent wand for you. Any extra features you want?"

"Anti Expelliarmus, waterproof, fireproof, and extra strong." Arasar rattled off. "How soon can you get it?"

The woman's eyebrows furrowed.

"With any luck, tomorrow." she said. "I've no other customers to take my time. Can you be here?"

Arasar sighed in relief. No more wandless magic.

"Yes." he said. "Thanks. Noon all right?"

"Excellent." she said, waving Arasar of. "Tomorrow, lad."

Arasar stepped out of the room and went to get his robes.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"Oak, Dementor essence." was what the woman said as soon as Arasar stepped back into the shop on Sunday. "Give it a wave, boy."

Arasar shrugged and took the wand from the woman. His eyes widened as his hand met the wand.

The wand immediately canceled out his disguise. For a moment, his blond hair flickered uncertainly between black and yellow, resulting in Arasar having murky green hair for a split second, and then his eyes turned from blue to green and his skin grew paler, and his freckles faded away.

"Common effect." said the woman dryly. "First contact with a wand can do amazing things. It won't do it again, in case you're worried."

Her eyes went to his scar. Her eyes widened only slightly, and a grim smile took place on her face.

"Mr Arasar." she said. "I certainly must admit I didn't expect this."

Arasar let his shoulder go down in relief. "How much?" he asked.

"Handmade wands are expensive." she said. "Thirty five Galleons. Extra five Galleons for the trouble I had, getting near a Dementor and cutting off a bit of cloak. Five more if you want a holster."

"Oh." said Arasar sympathetically. He counted out forty Galleons and handed them to her, renewing his disguise as he did. The woman gave him an approving nod and handed him a leather holster that he could hook to his belt.

"Good caution." she said.

"Thank you." said Arasar, nodding. He exited the shop and realized he didn't even know the woman's name.

Arasar slipped his wand into his holster, which he had clipped to his belt, next to his disillusioned sword.

He Apparated back to Hogsmeade and spent the rest of the day drifting around in disguise- rather illegally, it had to be admitted, because he knew perfectly well that he wasn't supposed to be out- buying chocolate, a pair of dragonhide gloves- his old ones had several holes in them- and a good pair of light leather shoes with several well-woven spells in them so the wearer would run faster while wearing them. Arasar was impressed with the workmanship.

A thought struck him as he was starting to turn back, reluctantly, to Hogwarts. Was there a way to combine his Mavuge and his wand? It would be infinitely more helpful- a wand that could store magic, and it would enhance the wand's magical power.

_Oh, yes._ said a nasty voice in his head._ Looking for even more power, are you?_

_No..._

Arasar tried to protest. It was just a useful precaution, that was all. It wasn't like he was ambitious- not really...

But then there was the Prophecy to think of...

But, Arasar thought anxiously. It all depended on whether or not he believed in prophecies, didn't it? Or not. Voldemort did, for certain, and was out for his blood. How very pleasant and all that rot. It was either him or Voldemort, and Arasar prefered that Voldemort go first.

But that's not quite the right way to think, thought Arasar as he sidled into Hogwart's wards, carefully. He might manage sneaking in, because Hogwarts was willing to turn a blind eye to his antics. That means I've got to _kill_ Voldemort. I don't _want_ to do that.

He pushed that disturbing paradox away and managed to get in the Great Hall without attracting much attention.

"Quidditch match tomorrow, you know?" said Ron to him, a bit uncomfortably. It was obvious that he had forgiven Arasar for not playing Quidditch.

"No, I didn't." said Arasar, scooping some spaghetti onto his plate. "Which houses?"

"Hufflepuff against Slytherin." said Ron. "It's a bit early for the first match of the year, but we're doing it."

"Mmhmm." said Arasar, managing to sound utterly bored and uninterested.

"Oh, come on, Arasar!" said Ron. "I know you don't like competing, but you'll like watching it!"

"Can't be too sure about anything." said Arasar.

"Oh, all right." he said irritably at the sight of Ron's pleading face. "Of course I'll go."

Ron beamed. Hermione gave an almost inaudible sniff. Ron rounded on her and opened his mouth.

"Here we go again..." said Arasar, very audibly.

This was enough to make Ron shut his mouth and round on Arasar.

"What!" he snapped.

Arasar rolled his eyes.

"Fight if you want." he said snootily, imitating what he knew Draco Malfoy sounded like. "In public. Go on, embarass yourself."

Ron's face reddened and he hunched his back, glaring at his food. Nearly everyone near them was looking at them- though Arasar thought, rather, it was because of him.

He wasn't sorry at all.

He crept back to the dormitory long before anyone else left. He wasn't hungry.

He pulled out his wand and the Mavuge and put the Mavuge at the end of the wand. He hadn't the least idea what to do. Azar and Drick might know. Azar had infused several of his precious emeralds with his weapons.

He dropped the two objects and opened the books and scribbled

'Hello?'

There was a long pause and Arasar was about to close the book when a messy scrawl appeared beneath his writing.

'What?'

'Can you tell me how exactly you attach a Mavuge to a wand or a weapon?'

'GROAN'

'Bad time?'

There was another pause.

'Three in the night.'

'Oh'.

'The charm is 'Infusio' or something like that. Put them together and point the wand at it and say it. Goodnight'.

The book slammed together. Arasar looked at it guiltily. He knew what Azar was like in the night.

He carefully arranged the wand and stone on the desk. He had no idea how to do this, though he'd seen Drick do it once. He put his hand over the two objects and drew in his power- and before he could lose his nerve-

"Infusio!"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Losing inspiration...

AN1 In this world I am presuming (closes eyes and lays back of hand against them lightly) that literature is a few year early. Therefore, the Abhorsen Trilogy and everything else exists.

AN2 Fast update? Well, you're not complaining, are you? Exams are over.

Chapter twelve: Just another typical day

At first nothing seemed to happen. Then, as Arasar stared intently at it, the stone rolled away from the wand a few inches, and the tip of the wand started to split into four. Arasar's eyes widened at the waste. If the spell went wrong, he would have to buy another wand. He was _so_ not keen on that.

The split ends branched off until they resembled snakelike claws reaching toward the Mavuge, which was shining. In fact, the wand and the Mavuge was both shining, brighter and brighter until they were only dimly seen, bright wand and stone shaped figures that were merging together until the round Mavuge shaped light disappeared into the wand, and the wand became normal again, and faded in brilliance until it was just a wand.

Arasar gingerly picked it up, hissing slightly at the heat coming from it. Holding it with one hand, and then another he examined it when it was cool enough.

The only visible change that it was longer, but lighter, and more pointed at the end. He would need to change the holster. And the only sign of the Mavuge was a glimmering green gem, too small to be seen from the distance or when it was pointed the other way, at the tip of the wand. Arasar was relieved. He didn't want to be carrying around a wand with a giant gem at the end- somewhat like Merlin's stereotyped staff.

He tested it by levitating the cushion that the Mavuge had once sat on. The amount of power that he needed to make it float hadn't changed, but he could tell that if he wanted, he could make the stored magic in the Mavuge substitute for his own channeled power. Useful in certain situations.

Arasar checked his watch. Six thirty. Time enought for flying.

As he picked up his broom, he couldn't help remembering what the wandmaker had said to him- asking him if he knew what his Animagus form was. Animagi hadn't existed a thousand years ago, or Azar or Row would have taught it to him.

A bird? He wondered as he, with some help from his shadow element, managed to sneak out of Hogwarts without attracting attention. Wearing his disguise only occured to him when he was outside. He vowed to wear it between classes from now on and took off.

A bird seemed right. He seemed to have a natural love for flying- though he like swimming, too, and running. Riding Rahon had definitely been an earth sport, and he had gone swimming every weekend- when it wasn't winter. Flying was fairly new.

From what he knew, his Animagus form would be something that was natural to what he liked- he didn't really know how to phrase it. Birds usually had an affinity with air, which was why Row had chosen an eagle as her animal. But that was her air element, wasn't it? Helga's badger was definitely an earth animal, and a snake- wasn't quite what anyone called _earthly_ . A lion was a good representation of fire. But shadow?

Maybe a night animal like an owl or a bat. Arasar snorted as he took off into the crisp night air, thinking of himself as a bat. But he had five elements, now. What was it, then?

Probably an ambiguous one, Arasar thought dreamily as he flew upside down, staring at the halved night sky on either side of his gleaming broom handle. If such thing existed. Something that could swim, fly, run, see in the dark-

Oh, it was hopeless.

And he didn't plan on becoming an Animagus, anyway. But it would be useful.

Not really, Arasar thought. With some trouble, he could turn into any animal he wanted without becoming an Animagus. Bothersome, but Arasar was sure that if he tried, he could find a way. Not that he wanted to.

He just concentrated on splitting the air with his broom, now vertically pointed, making a 90 degree angle with the ground.

Then he saw the black dog again. Strangely enough, this time he couldn't feel any hostility from it- though come to think of it, the only times he could feel it's murderous intent was inside his dormitory. Maybe he had been wrong and the dog had issues with his furniture, not him.

Arasar gave a snort at the idea and veered to the right, now speeding in a line parallel with the ground. Or maybe the dog was an assasin hired to kill Ron or Neville. But he really didn't think so- because, reluctant as he was to admit it, he was probably the person with the most reason to be targeted. He should have strangled Trelawney somehow before she prophecied. Somehow.

He sighed and turned again, vertical, but this time, he was speeding toward the ground. Five meters before he reached the ground, he veered off again sharply to the left in a wide arc and turned upside down again, hair brushing the ground. The string around his hair had snapped again. Arasar by now was seriously considering cutting his hair.

The black dog was still watching him wistfully. If he was so intent on murdering Arasar's furniture, why was he always following _him? T_hat didn't really make sense, but Arasar decided to push that thought away.

He dismounted, checking his watch again. Thirty minutes flying? Already?

The black dog was still watching him from the shadows. Arasar smiled grimly. Shadows were not the place to hide in when you were hiding from Arasar.

He clasped two fingers together and drew them apart. The shadows concealing the dog echoed his movement and drew apart. The clear light of the half moon shone on the dog, making it's rough black hair shine in zigzag pattern. The dog started the inch back, toward the dark Forest.

"No you don't." said Arasar, beckoning, lacing his words with a summoning magic that was easy to learn but took a lot of power. But that didn't matter right now, did it?

The dog unwillingly trotted to him and looked at him with beguilingly sad dog eyes, but the eyes were unusually intelligent, and its beseeching look didn't mask it very well.

Arasar gripped the slightly loose skin around it's neck tightly so it couldn't get away and probed its mind.

It knew what he was doing and flinched, trying to break contact, when that didn't do anything, it thrashed wildly. One of it's flailing feet hit Arasar's ear, making his head ring for a few moments. In those few moments, it dashed away and deep into the Forest.

"Not keen on getting captured." murmured Arasar, staring intently into the darkness. "What have you to hide, dog? Is your secret harmful?"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

At breakfast, Arasar was the second person to enter the Great Hall at six in the morning. The first was Dumbledore, who put down his newspaper and looked at Arasar.

"At Monday and Tuesday," he began. "There are additional classes that students choose at the end of their second year. Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies. You can choose two."

"Oh, er." said Arasar. "Care of Magical Creatures, of course. And..."

Very vivid memories from Dumbledore about Trelawney surfaced in his mind, and Arasar made a gagging noise in the back of his throat.

"Not Divination." he managed to say. "Ancient Runes... um... No, I like progressive classes more, I should think. Muggle Studies for me."

"An appropriate choice." Dumbledore murmured. "You'll find that none of the Slytherins attend that class."

"Well, that's a relief." said Arasar and settled down to eat some bacon. "Though that's not really the reason I chose it. I'm rather interested in muggles, and with no offence meant, your knowledge of muggles is less than I would like to know."

"Yes, I must admit that is a failing of mine." said Dumbledore, twinkling at him. "Though I adore muggle knitting patterns and their socks."

"Most interesting." said Arasar with a straight face, trying not to think of his Christmas present for Dumbledore. He knew he would break out into hysterics if he thought of that.

Cedric Diggory, along with a girl with straight black hair, came into the room.

"Thought we three were the only early risers in the castle." he said, grinning at Arasar. "Guess I'm wrong."

"Quidditch match tonight, isn't it?" said Arasar. "You're the captain of the Hufflepuff team?"

"Yeah." said Cedric, sitting next to his girlfriend at the Hufflepuff table. "I'll bet the Slytherins with cheat at least five different times, this game."

"Oh." said Arasar, feeling some regret at the House rivalry. "Too bad, that."

He returned to his bacon.

He hastily left when the Slytherins started to arrive and glare at him against the bare space between the tables.

"Oh, for the sake of lemon drops." he muttered irritably as he randomly walked around the castle. "They glare at me, and my instinct is to glare back, which takes precious energy I need to use to resist boring lectures. Bollocks."

He remembered, that moment, what he had promised himself last night. Concentrating, he pulled the ready made disguise over him, feeling his hair become enveloped by his disguise and blue irises slipping over his green one, and becoming more widely set apart. His nose stretched until it was reminiscent of Snape's nose- it was his idea of a joke- thought it wasn't noticed much, because of the pleasant, vague look in his eyes. His shirt read 'SUPERSONIC' again. He brushed some dust from his trousers and walked back to his dormitory to read some of the fiction books he had bought before his first lesson.

It was still dark outside, with the tiniest hints of red light above the horizon. Dim moonlight still shone faintly through the windows as he whispered the password to the Fat Lady and walked in, ignoring her grumblings.

He was well into 'Sabriel' when Ron shoved aside his curtains and opened his mouth to let out a holler that could wake the dead.

"Shut up, Ron!" said Arasar, along with Dean and Neville.

"Since when have you been my automatic alarm clock?" Arasar grumbled as he carefully folded the page and rolled of the bed in one movement, pulling on his discarded socks and stuffing his feet inside his new boots. They fitted perfectly and Arasar couldn't help grinning at the lightness he felt from them. He could run much faster with this on. Definitely an improvement.

"Aw, come on, Arasar." said Ron. "It's eight o clock."

"All those hours down with Snape in those dungeons has mangled your brain." muttered Dean, half asleep. "Since when have you started waking up early?"

"Mum put some potion inside the last batch of fudge she sent me." said Ron. "By the way, Arasar, she invites you to come with me to our home this winter vacation."

"Ah." said Arasar. "I haven't thought about the holidays... Um, yeah. Sure, if I won't be any trouble."

Ron grinned.

"And you _will _come to see the Quidditch match, right?" asked Ron. It was clear he had been a bit anxious about this.

"If you want." said Arasar, picking out some textbooks from his shelf and stuffing them into his backpack. He had decided to let it stay in that more studentish way. It was more sensible that carrying around what looked like a handbag. He took _Sabriel_ too.

"And when are you planning to read that?" asked Seamus as he stumbled out of bed, putting on his inside-out jacket.

"In my spare time." said Arasar, watching Seamus try to find him pocket in the inside of his jacket with some amusement. "Are you planning on wearing your hat on you feet, too?"

Seamus looked at his jacket and blushed, taking it off and pulling at the sleeves.

Arasar checked his watch. Eight, now.

"I suppose a second breakfast won't do any harm." he said. "Farewell for the morning, troops."

He exited, followed by Ron.

"What did your mother put into that fudge, anyway?" asked Arasar.

"Oh- something called caffeine." said Ron vaguely. "She told me to eat some immediately in the mornings if I wanted to wake up."

"That explains it." muttered Arasar as he ran ahead, enjoying the light effortlessness with which he sped toward the Great Hall. Ron panted as he caught up.

"Athletic, aren't you?" he asked as they went in the Great Hall.

"No, it's just the enchanted boots I bought yesterday in Hogsmeade." said Arasar as he wrapped an egg in a piece of crisped toast.

"You were in _Hogsmeade!?!?_ " Ron asked, sounding outraged. "How?"

"Opened the door, stepped out and walked over." said Arasar cheerfully.

"Don't you know anything?" asked Ron incredulously as he buttered a piece of toast that already had two layers of strawberry jam and peanut butter. "It's not safe! Especially around Hogwarts, it's been targeted several times already! Half the student were withdrawn just because of that!"

Arasar looked around at the Great Hall. There seemed to be enough students. He imagined twice of them and felt sorry for the teachers.

"And Death Eaters are everywhere." said Ron. "Slytherins, too. Draco Malfoy should be kicked out, only it's not really legal and Dumbledore is stupidly fairminded."

"Good for him." Hermione Granger muttered a few feet away. Ron opened his mouth, looked at Arasar, and shut it.

"Mmhmm." said Arasar noncommitally. "Whatever. What's first class?"

"Magical Creatures with Hagrid." said Ron. "There were some rumours about Malfoy having some plans for Hagrid this lesson... Hope it's not true..."

"Not with me there, he's not." said Arasar brightly. "Malfoy's scared of me."

"Let's hope so." muttered Seamus darkly beside them, having finally managed to put on the right clothes. His hair was still uncombed and was tangled.

"No worse than mine, though." said Arasar to himself and picked up an apple to munch on, on the way to their next class.

Draco Malfoy indeed looked a bit panicked when he saw Arasar looking coolly at him with his green eyes, firmly set beneath his sarcastically arched eyebrows. Arasar pointedly looked at Hagrid, who was looking at Malfoy a bit nervously, and back at Malfoy, pointing his chin at him in a decidedly familiarly Malfoy way.

"Righ'." said Hagrid, sneaking another nervous glance at Malfoy. "Knarls, today. Can anyone tell me wha' animal a Knarl resembles?"

Hermione's hand was in the air before anyone else's. Hagrid beamed encouragingly at her and pointed at her.

"A hedgehog." said Hermione promptly.

"Good!" said Hagrid. "Knarls are practically identical to hedgehogs except one thing- tell me, anyone?"

Two hands were in the air. Hermione's and Arasar's. Hagrid pointed at Arasar this time.

"Knarls are indistinguishable except for one important behavioural difference: If food is offered to a hedgehog, it will accept and enjoy the gift, but if food is offered to a Knarl, it will assume that the offerer is attempting to lure it into a trap or poisoning it and will attack what is near or the offerer's garden, if the Knarl happens to be in it."

"Perfec' textbook response." said Hagrid, beaming at him too. Arasar raised his other eyebrow, but this time humorously. Hermione looked at him appraisingly over Neville's head.

"Knarls usually can be found in Northern Europe and Asia," Hagrid continued. "And there are no physical differences between a Knarl and a Hedgehog..."

"Darwin would be exceptionately interested in this, if he were alive..." murmured Arasar to himself. Ron gave him a puzzled look, Hermione a startled one.

"How do you know Darwin?" she hissed at him.

"I can read." he said in a bored tone. "And there are such things as a muggle bookstore, you know."

"You like reading?" asked Hermione with some interest. Arasar rolled his eyes.

"Pay attention to the teacher." he said. "Or you'll miss something."

"...Knarls are classified as by the Ministry of Magic as a triple X creature, which means a competent wizard should cope. Righ', I'm going to introduce to you a Knarl- don't offer him food or touch him or anythin', and you'll be fine..."

There was a malicious glint in Malfoy's eyes as he watched Hagrid stump off to the other side of the house.

"Oh no." muttered Neville. He had noticed too. Perceptive boy, Arasar noted.

They could hear Hagrid coaxing something to come out, and some grunts- presumably from the Knarl.

Arasar examined his fingernails.

After a minute, Hagrid came back, followed by the Knarl.

It was a surprisingly cute looking animal. Several people- girls, all- said 'aww!'. Arasar looked at it. It had a round face with a curved snout and round eyes, with a short tail and a coarse underside. It's back was spiny- and it was blinking in a bewildered way, as if it had just been sleeping. Arasar remembered that hedgehogs were nocturnal animals.

It blinked at them again, woozily.

Hagrid somehow produced a bowl with several worms in it and set it down in front of it, gesturing at everyone to stay back.

Arasar looked at Malfoy at that moment, who had an innocent expression on his face, and his sleeve was pointed at the Knarl, who hadn't noticed the dish yet, and Arasar could see a wand-shaped lump under his sleeve. A clump of wet earth dislodged itself from the rest of the ground and smacked into Malfoy's face.

"Oops." Arasar muttered.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

OK. Need to clear something up for a few people. Snuffles, of course, has no malignant intent toward Arasar. It's just that a certain rat is quite near Arasar at the moment, and Arasar made a mistake in interpreting Snuffles's feelings. In a few chapters everything... or most things will be cleared up.

I can't believe I've already written over thirty thousand words... It's a record.

Yeah, see that little button down there? Click it. It won't do any harm, right?

Also, I've decided which pairing I'm going to make this. But don't worry, those of you out there who hate romance, it's not going to come up until Arasar's fourth year. If I manage to keep on until then.

OK, PEOPLE. We have a deal. I update, and you review. Savvy?


	11. The Rest ii

Chapter thirteen: Expecto Patronum

Malfoy looked absolutely furious. His eyes immediately darted to Arasar, Ron, and Hermione, Dean and Seamus, one by one. Arasar made haste to look at the Knarl, which was knocking over the worm bowl and acting crazy- and look fascinated. Goyle lumbered forth and stopped, uncertain of what to do.

"Righ'." said Hagrid, who hadn't noticed anything. "Knarls aren't dangerous unless you do this, and when they do, a simple immobilizing charm will stop them. Everyone got tha'?"

Malfoy had finally thought to use his wand and the mud filtered away from his face and disappeared. After his face was clean, he was aware of dusty powder falling from his hair.

"Spell went wrong." said Arasar to himself. "Interesting effects. He seems to have magicked his hair gel to come down with the dirt."

Hermione, who had heard, snorted. Ron had noticed, too. He grinned with satisfaction.

"Serves him right." he said. "His father managed to buy his way into team, _and _actually gave the Slytherin team all Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones."

"Too bad." said Arasar.

Malfoy wisely didn't try anything for the rest of the class, but kept looking at everyone, trying to figure out who had done it. It was to Arasar and Hermione his eyes flickered between the most, but he couldn't prove anything.

"When's the match, anyway?" said Arasar as he gave Hagrid a friendly nod and walked away with Ron and Dean."

"Five." said Ron. "Just after Divination. Oh- which extra classes did you take?"

"Muggles studies and Magical Creatures." Arasar answered. Ron made a face.

"I wish I'd done that." he said enviously. "The Divination teacher's a right bat."

"Mmhmm." said Arasar noncommitally.

"_And_ you'll be taking that class with Granger." said Ron. "She's from a muggle family, for goodness sake. I bet she just signed for it to show off."

"Give her a break." said Arasar. "It's none of your business."

Ron flushed but didn't say anything more. Arasar couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for Granger, though Ron was a bit correct.

The day crept along. Defense Against Dark Arts was the slowest, though Professor Lupin was a pretty good teacher. Arasar kept getting distracted from the subject of redcaps because of the strange feeling/smell he got from Lupin, and Lupin didn't help by being nervous everytime he looked at Arasar or went near him.

He walked to Muggle Studies with Hermione Granger, an uncomfortably stiff silence between them. Arasar thought, rather, that Hermione had heard the conversation between him and Ron when they were walking back from Care of Magical Creatures.

"Whose the professor and what's he like?" asked Arasar to break the tension.

"Professor Elgumton." said Hermione. "He's nice."

Two word answers, thought Arasar. Ah, well.

Professor Elgumton proved to be nice enough. It was a Gryffindor-Ravenclaw class, and Arasar had a pleasantly interesting time there. He was still wearing his SUPERSONIC T-shirt, and Professor Elgumton glanced at it with some amusement when Arasar came in.

Muggle Studies were more like a conversation than a class. Professor Elgumton would introduce a muggle object, and the students would fire questions at him about it. Arasar was extremely relieved to find out that he enjoyed the class. Better than trying to see the future in teabags. Or leaves.

Arasar went to the Quidditch match in disguise, of course, wearing a neutral dark blue robe, still defiantly displaying the words SUPERSONIC on it. He charmed the area around his eyes so only half of the sunlight would come in and folded his arms, leaned against the wall and watched Madam Hooch bent over the box of balls with her whistle ready in her mouth, both hands and a foot ready to kick aside the straps to release the balls.

Ron was a few feet away, twisting around anxiously as if he were looking for someone. Arasar felt slightly guilty but didn't move from where he was.

There was a giant roar from everyone- it took a few seconds for Arasar to realize it was a cheer- that almost drowned out the sound of a shrill whistle. Two black blurs shot up from the box, and a golden flash as the Snitch zoomed away. Two figures in the air, clad in yellow and green, flew after it. The Slytherin Seeker- Malfoy, Arasar realized- he seemed to have reapplied his hairgel- was noticeably faster.

In fact, the entire Slytherin team had superior brooms, thought Arasar. Though he rather thought his Supersonic952 was much better. It was unfair. Cedric and Malfoy flew side by side, Cedric bent forward for speed but slipping behind Malfoy all the same.

Arasar heard the commentary go into one ear and pass through the other without much interest, because his eyes were fixed on the golden blur that was somehow always two feet in front of Malfoy and three feet ahead of Cedric. It's pale gold wings fluttered and rotated so it turned sharply and veered without any effort-

"FOUL!"

There was an outraged cry from three quarters of the crowd and cheers from the other quarter. A large Slytherin boy had just rammed the Hufflepuff Keeper with the end of his broom to distract him as another Slytherin Chaser scored. Arasar's eyes darted to the yellow clad Keeper tightly holding his head with one hand and clutching the broom with another. Arasar could tell that he was dizzy and couldn't see straight.

"AND SYMBOL SCORES - THAT'S FORTY TO THIRTY, IT'LL BE A TIE IF ANDERSON SCORES AGAIN- SCORE!"

Arasar smiled and looked at the two Seekers again, who had lost sight of the Snitch. Arasar found it weaving between the three thin hoops on the Slytherin side and followed it with his eyes, almost getting as dizzy as the Hufflepuff Keeper.

"AND CRABBE SMASHES A BLUDGER AT ANDERSON- UNFORTUNATELY, STUPIDITY ISN'T A CRIME OR CRABBE AND GOYLE WOULD HAVE BEEN PUBLIC ENEMIES NUMBER ONE AND TWO- no, I was only joking, Professor, won't do it again- YES! SYMBOL SCORES AGAIN!"

Cedric had finally seen the Snitch zooming beneath the seats. He dived toward it, closely followed by Malfoy, who was quickly catching up-

"COME ON, DIGGORY, YOU CAN DO IT- THEY VEER TO THE RIGHT- OH, GO ON, WILL YOU!"

Cedric managed to slip between two wooden stakes to continue his pursual of the Snitch. Malfoy tried to go the same way to catch up, but his fluttering green and silver robe was caught by a loose nail- he lost his broom, which went on without him-

"HA, HA! YOUR BROOM'S BRAKING CHARM'S WEARING OFF, EH? YES- COME ON, YES!"

Cedric shot out from under the seats with a triumphant grin on his face and a gloved hand clutching the Snitch. Malfoy sourly picked up his broom and dusted his robes and glared around at everyone.

"SO IT'S HUFFLEPUFF'S VICTORY, ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY TO FIFTY-"

Arasar let out a breath. It was great, Quidditch. He'd like to play it himself- but he still felt no regret that he refused to join the team. He'd have to wear those ostentatious red and gold robes, too, and that would be horrible...

He grinned at the idea and went down to congratulate Cedric with everyone else.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"Diggory caught it in thirty minutes." said Ron, glowing. "Where were you, anyway?"

This last question was aimed at Arasar, who just smirked.

"I was watching the match in disguise." he answered. "The blond kid with a hooked nose and freckles, with an old robe and a T-shirt on-"

"That was you?" asked Seamus incredulously. "I looked at you a couple of times! Thought it was weird, because I'd never seen you before- Why didn't you join us?"

"No particular reason." said Arasar, checking his watch. "I preferred to watch standing. If you don't mind, someone's expecting me now."

His hair blurred back to blond, his green eyes to blue. His new robes aquired patches and rips in it again, and his sweater morphed into a worn T-shirt, and he walked away.

"And it was him all along." said Seamus, shaking his head. "Wish I'd known."

"You never know what he'll do." said Dean, grinning. "Unpredictable, just like my dad."

Arasar walked to Professor Lupin's office, wondering what to say when he got there. Lupin so obviously thought that Arasar didn't like him and was upset by it. One learned to read those kind of thoughts on faces, if one wanted to live in the same house- er, castle?- with Drick, whose face was like stone and showed only faint, distant emotions. Compared to Drick, Lupin was easy to read. His magic helped, too. He had inherited Row's sensitive magic- mind magics, she called it- that could tell emotions. That was why Row was the counselor, the one all the little kids ran to when they had trouble, because she was just so understanding.

Dumbledore's memories of Lupin were limited. Though he knew well enough about Lupin when he was younger, and had humorous comments on all of the less than saintly deeds that he had committed with his friends, there was something carefully blank about those memories, as if Dumbledore was consciously keeping something from Arasar. Something that Arasar was sure had to do with the feeling he kept getting from Lupin- the wild feel. Wildness he didn't mind, but there was viciousness too, and cruelty, and the absence of control. But all those things were very different from Lupin, who was one of the most mild men that Arasar had ever met, kind and controlled. Perhaps even overly so.

Even before he knew it, he was in front of Lupin's door. He pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch, which said he had two minutes before eight. Two minutes.  
He stared dreamily at the wooden door, with light and dark swirls, and thought about Lupin again. He had thought all along that it was just because of the strangeness from Lupin that he was being hostile, but it wasn't so. It was because Arasar was afraid that the hidden viciousness in Lupin would come out anytime.

_Let's face it, I'm scared stiff of him._

Arasar made a face at that thought and tapped on the door firmly before he lost his nerve.

The door opened immediately, revealing Lupin, who looked nervous, too. Almost unnoticeably.

"Just on time." said Lupin, forcing a smile. "Eight on the dot. Come in."

Arasar stepped in and looked around at the office as Lupin shut the door.

It was full of things like an empty tank, a patched suitcase on the desk which was shaking, a covered cage that rattled and a few rolled up parchments that Arasar recognized as some of the essays that some fifth years had been working on. There wasn't a single portrait of anyone except a single tattered photograph propped on a stack of books on Lupin's desk. Other than that, everything in the room was purely impersonal and throughly involved with education.

"Do you keep a dog?" asked Arasar automatically without thinking. Lupin whirled around and looked at him curiously.

"No, why?" he asked. Arasar's nose twitched and he picked up a long grey hair from the carpet.

"Just curious." Arasar answered. Dumbledore wasn't going to be helpful. He obviously knew what Lupin's secret was, but was keeping it from Arasar. It didn't help, because Arasar was distrustful of Lupin, anyway.

"Oh- then." said Lupin, striding over to the suitcase. "All the Dementors have joined Voldemort-" Arasar noted Lupin could actually say the name- "Except the ones rounded up forcefully and sent along to Azkaban to act as guards, so we'll have to do with a Boggart."

"Oh, then." said Arasar. He was determined to not use his extra magic this time. He felt like that would be cheating.

"The incantation is 'Expecto Patronum' and you'll have to think of something happy when you're saying it, otherwise it won't work." Lupin was saying. "A Patronus is unique to the conjurer- as you saw, yours is a raven."

"I always like ravens." said Arasar meditatively. "I didn't know my Patronus would be one, though."

"Yes, then." said Lupin. "Don't panic. On three. One-"

Arasar unholstered his wand and stroked the wood with one finger, feeling the wand's magic humming gently beneath it. He searched in his mind for a happy memory and settled on a picture of Azar, Drick, Row and Helga- with Azar gesturing rudely behind Drick's head.

"Two-"

A grin spread on his face as he thought of that.

"Three!"

The suitcase burst open and a tall Dementor breathing cold like a superpowered refrigerator loomed above, seeming impossibly tall. Arasar drew in his magic, fixing the image of all four Founders in his mind firmly- but it was fading in color and in joy by the Dementor, which leeched away for all it was worth-

Screaming washed away the final shreds of what was left of that image. Arasar could hear himself through the screaming, weakly chanting the joyless words, over and over again- a wisp of cloud drifted from his wand without any energy- through the despair that pressed down on his mind and his eyeballs, he saw Lupin jump in front of him, his light brown hair- almost golden- swinging around his face as he stretched out his arms in a swift barring motion, and the Dementor- Arasar forgot it was only a Boggart- turned into a pale yellow orb that seemed familiar. The screaming stopped abruptly, and the shadows fled from the corners of Arasar's vision, and the coldness seeped out from his body and faded into the air.

In front of the yellow orb, Lupin's wild viciousness seemed to intensify and double, even though Lupin's face as he calmly banished the Boggart back into the suitcase stayed the same way, in his usual mildness. The mildness turned into mild alarm when Lupin turned around, looking concerned.

As it always did when Arasar was scared- which was rarely- his face froze into a blank mask. His face seemed to worry Lupin, who walked toward Arasar, hand going into his pocket, wriggling about, looking for something.

Arasar, with some trouble, straightened and gave one shiver to shake off the cold.

"Your Boggart." he said uncertainly, searching in his mind. He _knew _what that yellowish orb was. He just couldn't remember. "It's..."

Lupin stopped rummaging in his pockets and handed Arasar a wrapped bar of chocolate.

"Curious, aren't you?" he remarked. "Not even worrying about yourself, I see."

Arasar bit into the bar, and felt blessed warmth spreading down from his chest to his toes. But his mind was still working furiously on the the mystery of Lupin's Boggart.

"Well, one more try, do you reckon?" asked Lupin.

"Yes." said Arasar, holding his wand at ready. "Yes, I think so."

He set his face into a mask again, a grim one, and fixed his eyes on the rattling suitcase a drew in his power again, like he'd been taught by Row, and after a moment of thought, placed his left hand on the wand, too.

"At three." said Lupin. "One-"

Arasar fixed the mental image of his four guardians in his mind again, as firmly as he could- the minor details unblurred, and he could see Helga's dimples, the shadows on Row's face, caused by the dark curtain hanging a little besides her left eye, and Drick's strongly humorous and sarcastic and utterly pessimistic gaze fixed on-

"Two-"

Azar's fingers crooked behind Drick's head, Helga's well browned face and warm, friendly eyes-

"Three, Alahomora!"

Without even thinking, Arasar let his magic loose again, concentrating with all his might on the memory. A bird that Arasar couldn't even tell was a raven- it was so dim- flew toward the advancing Dementor and faded. The Dementor stopped for a moment, and Lupin hastily forced it back into the suitcase.

"That was excellent." said Lupin.

"But it didn't get rid of it, did it?" said Arasar resignedly.

"Don't worry about that." Lupin assured Arasar. "The Patronus Charm is hard to master, and even some Aurors can't do it. It's natural that you won't be able to do it at first- in fact, I'm amazed you managed to conjure a Patronus that had a defined form, even thought it was a bit weak..."

"Ah, then." said Arasar and stood up.

"One more go?" he asked pleadingly. "I'm sure I can do it this time."

Lupin hesitated.

"Just one." he said firmly.

"Yes. Don't interrupt me this time, please." said Arasar.

"On three again." said Lupin, managing to convey with his dark tone that he was allowing Arasar to face the Dementor against his conscience.

"One-"

This time, Arasar tried to remember the feeling he had when he was riding his broom, soaring in the air, weightless and limitless-

"Two-"

The feel of the cold air against his skin, his entire body bent forward for more speed, parting the wind, diving, gliding, swooping, veering-

"Three!"

The Dementor loomed out from the suitcase again, but Arasar was ready this time. Releasing his power before the Dementor leeched away all the warm details from his strong memory, he let his magic loose with the two words that turned from just ordinary words to words of power that thundered and hung in the air, echoing soundlessly. A misty, faint raven burst out from his wand, shaking out its silver feathered wings, larger than ever, with it's beak poised to strike viciously, mercilessly-

But it faded in strength as it fluttered toward the Dementor, and was just a faint cloud of silver as it disappeared as it hit the Dementor weakly. The Dementor staggered- something real Dementors didn't do, but glided toward Arasar again, and the screaming started, faintly at first, but even more strongly, with even more horror and panic in the voice as Arasar stumbled away weakly, all thoughts of attempting at another spell gone from his mind. The darkness was closing in again...

He wasn't even aware that he had fainted until he was aware, dimly at first, of Lupin's firm hand shaking his shoulder. Arasar let out a heartfelt groan and felt Lupin handing him another piece of chocolate that Arasar thankfully stuffed into his mouth. He could see from the expression on Lupin's face that he wasn't going to let Arasar face the Dementor again.

"Next week, Tuesday on eight o clock again." said Lupin. "It would have been on Monday , only Dumbledore says the Auror whose going to train you arrives then."

Arasar groaned gently and looked at his watch, which said that an hour had already passed.

"Right, then." he answered. "Good night, Professor."

Lupin tried to smile at him, and Arasar nodded politely before exiting.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

So all of you now know that Arasar, though powerful and has a library of knowledge at his disposal, has several flaws... He lacks experience and the library is half unread. And he's really just an ordinary wizard when he's not cheating and using the extra powers he has.

Oh, and I just realized that my mother's birthday is incidentally on July 31st. Familiar date, anyone?

Chapter fourteen: Missions, or an Early Update

Chapter 14, Missions

It was quiet in the Gryffindor dormitory. The red and gold decorations seemed like dark scarlet and dim yellow in the faint light coming in from the open window, whichw as enchanted to make the wind warm in the winter and cool in the summer. The room was strewn with various objects- combs, books, parchment, quills, inkpots, and several posters of Chudley cannons. The silence was interrupted only by quiet snorings, and it would seem that everyone was asleep.

But besides Ron Weasley's red hair, there was a motionless gray rat which had its bright black eyes open and warily watching its master. When it was certain that he was indeed asleep and not shamming for some reason, is soundlessly crept out of a crack in the curtains and scurried out of the dormitory and the Gryffindor tower and out of Hogwarts, going through cracks, secret passageways and worming in and out of the small tunnels that other mice and rats had dug for the thousand years that Hogwarts had existed.

It finally stopped when it was out of the grounds and on a rock shelter by trees in three directions, and stood still, and underwent a change.

Its whiskers turned a fairish gray color, and its fur vanished except on its head, except in the middle. The eyes turned to a watery, bloodshot blue, and after a few seconds, it was a short, quivering man that still looked like a rat, somehow.

And then, with a sharp crack, he vanished.

He reappeared a few hundred miles away, in a garden full of carnivorous poppies. He quickly conjured a black robe and a mask and fumbled with them as he scurried- his walk much similar to the rat he had been- into the house that was full of tense silence. No one dared raise their voice here, just in case their master had a hangover. It was like dodgeball.

First one who gets caught is dead.

The man's queer scurrying gait became a full blown run that made almost no sound. He tried not to pant as he opened the door and closed it gently behind him, trying to make himself look as small as possible.

It didn't work. Masked faces turned toward him, and a two red slits glared at him from the great thronelike chair at the end of the room, the part that was so dark that the only thing that could be seen were those two red eyes. The unsettling scarlet gaze rested on the man, like a cat lazily staring at a rat before it would be devoured.

"Late, Wormtail."

"Master." said Wormtail, trying not to stutter. "I apologize. The Weasley boy fell asleep late."

"Have you been observing the Potter boy?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. What have you to report?"

"The Potter boy can do wandless magic, my lord. He transfigured an inkpot into a broom wandlessly and performed a tracking charm by mistake. His Boggart is a Dementor, which he banished wandlessly. He seems to have little control of his powers, for all the displays of complicated magic he has given has been, as far as I can see, accidental... And..."

"And?"

"They- they say-"

For the first time, Wormtail hesitated.

"They say?"

"They say that he is an excellent flyer, my lord."

Voldemort curled his lip scornfully.

"What, do you regret turning to my service, Wormtail? Perhaps you are wishing your long-dead friend back? Do you not remember it is you yourself who betrayed them?"

Wormtail's face turned a queer yellow-white color.

"No, of course not, my lord."

"Very well. Ronald Weasley has, I hope, befriended the boy?"

"Yes, my lord. The Weasley boy has invited Potter to his home for the winter holidays, in fact."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"And that is when...?"

"Only two weeks left, milord."

"And has he accepted?"

"Yes, my lord.

"Good. Wormtail, you have my instructions. Wait until the holidays to kill the Potter boy in the Weasley hut."

There was the slightest ripple of laughter.

"I don't want the muggle-loving fool to think Hogwarts isn't impenetrable," continued the Dark Lord. "And it will give the Weasleys some trouble with the Ministry, won't it?"

He smirked viciously, and Lucius Malfoy had a gleeful look on his face. Wormtail, on the other hand, was sweating.

"My Lord- I am afraid that Dumbledore will put extra wards around the boy- and they say the boy is quite powerful-"

"But not when he is sleeping." said Voldemort. "Or do you think it is too much trouble, Wormtail?"

Voldemort leaned forth and the dim light hit his face, making his red eyes glow and causing new shadows to spring over his face, making it even more menacing.

"No, my lord." said Wormtail, bowing. "Never, my lord."

"Very well." said Voldemort, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Leave, now."

The man called Wormtail bowed again and stumbled backwards from the room and closed the door gently as he went, breaking into a pattering run as soon as he was a few feet away frrom the door. He imagined his master's bloodred eyes following his every movement, even through the door and a hundred miles away. Closing his eyes against the fear, he apparated away and crept back to Hogwarts and lay besides the redheaded boy's head, shivering.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Only a few minutes later after the rat returned to the Gryffindor dormitory, a black dog roused from his sleep and glared at the Gryffindor Tower with oddly pale eyes. It trotted to the arched entrance and stepped into it.

Soundlessly, it padded through the corridors doggedly until it reached a seemingly ordinary portrait of a plump lady dressed in pink, snoozing.

The dog rose and suddenly became a man with wildly tangled hair clotted with mud and dirt, with hollow, empty eyes set in a thin, starved face. His clothes were little more than black rags, but there was a grim expression on his face and a foot long knife in his hand. It was time.

He let out a low, rumbling growl that sounded like the dog he had been.

The Fat Lady opened her eyes and stared at the man disbelievingly.

"You!" she exclaimed, backing away from him. It didn't work, since she was in a portrait. "You!"

"Yes, me." said the man, grinning joylessly and revealing a row of yellow teeth. "Open up."'

"No." she said. "Not for you. Merlin knows what kind of havoc you'll wreak- Aaah!"

The man had lunged forth, slashing the canvas just above the Fat Lady's head.

"Now?" he said, holding his knife so he could slash again.

The Fat Lady crouched down, terrified, and the portrait creaked open.

The man stalked in and stepped up the stairs leading to the third year Gryffindor's dormitory.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar felt him before he saw him. A creature, human and not human at once, with darkly hostile intent, though not at him. It took him a moment to realize it was the black dog he'd been seeing for a few days, now. He gave himself three seconds to come back to consciousness and sat up, not making any sound.

He found that he was still fully dressed, and _Sabriel _was lying, on his chest. He must have fallen asleep reading it. He noted he was nearly at the end and put it aside gently and rolled out of the bed, making only two quiet creaks. Stepping out of his room/bed, he stood in the entrance and clasped his fingers and twisted them. The shadows followed his motion, and twisted, writhed and expanded until the whole room was dark and almost impossible to see in. Arasar hid in the extra shadows he had created and waited.

He felt 'him' climb up the stairs, steel in his hand. He guessed it was a knife. He was right when he saw a silver flash reflecting the dim moonlight, and the man stepped into the room, hunched and wary. He raised his head and sniffed.

Arasar's eyes widened. It was Sirius Black. He recognized him now. His hair was dirtier than ever, and his face had some color in it- an unhealthy yellow color, but color all the same.

Not yet, Arasar thought. Not yet. I have to find out why he's here.

The man raised his knife and looked around the dark room, obviously confused by the unusual darkness. But just shrugged it off as something that had nothing to do with him and narrowed his eyes and sniffed again.

A realization struck Arasar. The man was an Animagus! That would explain it. Heightened senses, especially smell. And that would also explain how that dog seemed strangely intelligent.

The man quietly padded to Ron's bed and ripped aside the curtains.

Several things happened at once. Ron's rat, Scabbers, Arasar remembered, squeaked with terror and scurried to the other side of the bed. The man moved suddenly, Ron woke up abruptly and yelled, and Arasar lunged forth, shoulder-first, and knocked over the man sideways, as Ron, wide-eyed with terror, sat up and yelled as loudly as he could.

Dean sleepily turned on the light and blinked bewilderedly when it only dimly lit the room. Arasar hastily let the extra shadows melt away, and Dean, seeing the mass murderer he had read about so much, slammed opened the door and hurried to get the Head Boy.

Sirius Black struggled for all he was worth under Arasar's relentless grip. His knife was some feet away, and Neville, who was wide awake, kicked it away from Black and glared at him.

"Harry-" started Black. "It's not what you think it is-"

"Not another word until Dumbledore gets here." said Arasar grimly. "Everything you say will be remembered and used against you in trial- if you have one, that is."

"I never HAD a trial!" said Sirius, ignoring Arasar. "Harry, you've got to believe me. I was innocent! They didn't even test me with Veritaserum and no one believed me-"

"What's going on here?" said someone. "Who- Harry Potter, you- SIRIUS BLACK!"

"That seems to be his name." said Arasar. "Get Dumbledore while I hold him."

"No, stun him!" said Percy. "Someone."

"Just get Dumbledore!" said Arasar in an infuriated voice. "NOW!"

Percy hurried down the stairs, yelling a loud

"DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!"

"I don't intend to." said Arasar, turning back to Sirius, who had stopped struggling now and was watching him with hopelessly blank gray eyes.

"Be quiet." he told him and plunged into Sirius's eyes and into his mind.

It was an experience he didn't really like. He hated invading other people's privacies, because he respected his own. That was one of the first string of morals Row had drummed into his head at an early age- Respect other people's privacies. But this needed to be done, and Arasar had no intention of making a mistake in letting Sirius go back to Azkaban if he was really innocent. Which was unlikely, but Arasar wanted to make sure, all the same. Something told him that a foray into Sirius's mind would be useful.

It was a bleak place, the man's mind. A byproduct of Azkaban and Dementors, Arasar supposed. Much unlike Dumbledore's mind, it was undefended and had stray information here and there and everywhere. He was a frightfully disorganized man. But underneath the black despair was a hidden sense of humor that hadn't been awoken for twelve years, and under that, very dimly, Arasar could feel memories- most of them happy one, of friend laughing, pranking, studying, joking, bantering-

He brushed that away and found what he was looking for.

It was like being in a Pensieve. He saw Sirius, Peter Pettigrew, who he recognized from Dumbledore's memories and another man who looked very much like him- Arasar realized, with a jolt, that it was his father- talking about something. But Arasar was too late to catch most of the conversation, and all he knew that there had been a 'switch' before the memory blurred away and another took its place.

It was a memory of Sirius with his wand out, facing Pettigrew , who looked determined and had his wand behind his back in a muggle street. Several muggles were staring at them. The day was a fine one, but the way Sirius was glaring at Pettigrew- full of hatred, rage, sadness and murderous intent- couldn't have been more different from the sunshine. Sirius shouted something rude at the man, and Pettigrew said something back, and he twitched his wand.

The street blew up.

The explosion started at the middle of the street, just between Sirius Black and Pettigrew. The concrete blew out, almost in slow motion, it seemed to Arasar, and then the whole place was full of flying dust, pebbles, pieces of cars and the street. There was some blood- and it would seem to everyone who was watching except Arasar that it was Black who had made the street blow up.

But Arasar knew magic well enough to know that Pettigrew who had done it. He did another piece of magic which made his clothes fall apart in pieces, and he disappeared.

But it wasn't before Arasar noted that he had transformed into a rat and had scurried away, running for the sewers.

He came back to the present with a jolt, realizing that though he didn't know much about what Black had gone to Azkaban for, Black was innocent in one case, at least. Arasar knew from Dumbledore that Black had been guilty of at least two crimes, but for the life of him he couldn't tell what the other one was, besides Black killing thirteen people. That was one of those things that Dumbledore was keeping from him, like Lupin's mystery.

"Arasar? You can let go, now."

Dumbledore was looking at him kindly. Arasar straightened up and looked at Dumbledore and opened his mouth to tell him what he had discovered. But Dumbledore gently shook his head. Several Aurors, who looked like they had just awoken, stunned Sirius Black and levitated him away.

"Not now, Arasar." he said. "In the morning, if you wish. Go back to sleep, now. The Ministry will be very happy with this."

Arasar shook his head.

"Headmaster," said Arasar. "I won't say anything then, on the conditions that you will give Sirius Black a trial and keep him unharmed until then."

Dumbledore frowned at him. Arasar stared back mulishly. Ron and Dean, Seamus and Neville stared at them with Percy and several other seventh years who had woken up with him.

"Yes, then." said Dumbledore at last. "Yes."

"And send me the date of the trial." said Arasar, walking back to his room. "Oh, and where will you be keeping him? Somewhere safe, I hope.""Seventh floor." said Dumbledore. " I'll tell you the date of the trial as soon as I find out. I told them to put him in the room next to the Charms classroom. Hogwarts is the safest place. We'll put all the wards we know and can afford to cast around him, if that reassures you?."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Arasar curiously.

"Seventh floor." said Dumbledore. " I'll tell you the date of the trial as soon as I find out. I told them to put him in the room next to the Charms classroom. Hogwarts is the safest place. We'll put all the wards we know and can afford to cast around him, if that reassures you?."

"Yes, it does." said Arasar and drew the curtains before falling asleep.

The others followed example, but reluctantly.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar, meanwhile, wasn't as asleep as everyone thought he was. After an hour had passed, he rose again and exited the Gryffindor tower and found the seventh floor.

It wasn't so hard for Arasar to disable the wards temporarily for him to pass. He had Dumbledore's knowledge of more than half the wards, and the others he guessed about.

Luckily, he passed through all of them and in only half an hour he had reached the door that led to Black's cell.

Black wasn't asleep, either. He was staring outside the barred window, and didn't look at Arasar when Arasar opened the door with a small click and gently closed the door again.

"Come to jeer at me?" he said, with a hint of a sob in his voice. "Is it you, Remus, to continue what you said to me, twelve years ago? Or another Auror to mock me? Dumbledore to try to make me confess?"

"Not really." said Arasar. "I'm just someone whose not supposed to be here."

Sirius recognized his voice and whirled around, staring disbelievingly.

"You!" he said. "Why are YOU here?"

"Because I believe you're innocent." said Arasar. "I've told Dumbledore to arrange a trial for you. Most probably you'll go straight back to Azkaban, since Veritaserum is used only when there is real doubt about the guilt of the accused, and all evidence pointed to you. But that's reckoning without me, isn't it?"

"What do you think YOU can do?" Sirius asked in a nonplussed voice. "You're just- Well, you have some influence, but the Minister's an idiot and is just going to pat you on the head and send you away. How did you find out I was innocent, anyway?"

"I went into your mind." said Arasar. "Heard of Legilimency? See you have. From a pureblood family, aren't you? I can probably get enough evidence to clear your name if something unexpected doesn't happen."

"Evidence!" said Sirius.

"And why did you come to our dormitory?" said Arasar in a mystified voice. "That's one against you. You were holding a knife and advancing on a student. That's enough proof for the Minister. They'll probably say that you thought Ron was me and send you back to Azkaban."

"Yes, they will." said Sirius brokenly. Then a thought seemed to strike him. He suddenly glared at Arasar.

"You!" he said angrily. "Dumbledore sent you to wring out a confession from me! Yeah, he knows that I won't hurt you, just because you look like- like James. Well, that's not going to bloody work, because I'm innocent and I came to the dormitory to get my revenge on-"

But here, he shut his mouth and glared at Arasar.

But the word 'revenge' had been enough. Arasar's eyes had already widened in comprehension.

"The rat." he whispered. "Peter Pettigrew. An Animagus- of course! Scabbers, Ron's pet."

"Ron's pet." imitated Sirius in a scathingly warbling voice. "Who is probably running away now. I could have finished him if you hadn't interfered."

"You could have." agreed Arasar. "But that wouldn't have proved you innocent. See here, I'm going to appear in your trial. I'm going to do everything I can to get you released. Just try not to provoke any Aurors or anyone who comes near you, and in the meantime, I'll use my rather unusual influence to find Pettigrew."

"Right." said Sirius warily. "You do that."

He slumped on his chair. Arasar could see that he didn't believe Arasar could do anything.

Arasar shrugged and smiled.

"Until then." he said and turned to leave. But Sirius said something that Arasar almost didn't hear, something he wouldn't have heard if he had been a normal person, without the enhanced senses two out of five of his elemental powers gave him.

"Harry... You really do look like your father..."

Arasar exited.

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Full of excitement. Yes, I know that it was a bit hurried, but... well, I can't say I have my reasons, because I don't. Just let it go as a blunder of an inexperienced author.

Chapter Fifteen: Demanding Explanations

Chapter Fifteen: Demanding Explanations

Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling. I'm not Garth Nix, though I wish I were. JKR and GN don't have to wait eagerly for people to review.

Reason for updating: 'cause I'm a generous person.

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The sky was still dark when Arasar stole out of the castle after his short visit to Sirius. He put his wand to his throat and drew in his breath and power, and expelled them both with a throaty hiss that reverberated gently but surely out into the Forbidden Forest. Then the echoes died out, but Arasar waited expectantly.

His wait was rewarded in a few seconds by a slithering sound to his right, and a small, plain and harmless garden snake appeared toward him and hissed at Arasar

'Why do you summon us, brother?'

Arasar shook his head at it and waited.

In a few minutes, there were more than a hundred snakes in front of Arasar, small, large, medium sized and dark and light colored, poisonous, harmless- snakes of all variety, in short. In another two minutes, there were more than a person could count. The snakes were the ones who lived in the Forbidden Forest- all of them that could come, those that weren't too busy with food or other matters.

"Brothers and sisters." said Arasar. If he was correct, Pettigrew would hope that Sirius went right back to Azkaban and come back to Ron, pretending to be an innocent rat. It was because of this he had decided not to tell anyone about his knowledge of Sirius's innocence except Sirius himself. Voldemort wouldn't want to lose a spy in Hogwarts- right under Dumbledore's nose, after all.

"I need you to locate and capture a certain rodent that will be in these grounds," continued Arasar in his low hiss. "He is thin, with gray fur and a toe missing with an unsavory smell to him. Don't kill him- that's a warning to you with deadly poisoned fangs- I want him alive. The reward for the capture is food, anything the successful hunter wants."

One should never ask a snake a favor without promising a reward. The snakes made agreeing hissing sounds- free food would be nice, and snakes were good hunters. The rat would be found, they promised Arasar. But keep your promise, they warned him. Or he would pay with blood.

"I always keep my promises." said Arasar. "That is all. Thank you."

He rose, tired suddenly. He had spent half- or maybe more- of the night up, after all.

"You can find me at the Gryffindor Tower. Try not to attract attention as you come." he added as he walked into the castle and practically sleep-walked up to the dormitory, where he fell into his bed, thankfully falling asleep instantly.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

At first, when Arasar awoke, he thought it all had been a dream until he staggered out, immensely tired, to find that the entire school was in an uproar the next day about the news that Sirius Black had been caught. The knowledge that Harry Potter, AKA Arasar had been involved made the rumours spread swiftly, strongly and inaccurately. In fact, Ron's younger sister, Ginny, had come up to Ron to ask him for confirmation of the rumours.

"I haven't seen her before." remarked Arasar. "She's a Gryffie, right?"

"Yeah." said Ron, grinning. "Only reason you haven't seen her all over the place is because she fancies you. Runs away every time she sees you and tries to stalk you at the same time, she's doing."

Arasar rolled his eyes. "Redheaded, right?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "She was all over me when Mum told her that I'd owled her that you'll be coming for the winter holidays. 'Oh Ron, really?!' and 'Are you SURE, Ron?' Fallen in love, honestly, you'll be glad to hear."

"Shut up." said Arasar.

He had finished 'Sabriel' that morning and was starting on 'Lirael'. The author wrote very well, and Arasar would have been extremely content with it except that Arasar kept getting confused, because the magic the characters used in the book was so unlike his own magic. But, Arasar supposed, he couldn't have everything in life. He had had a very hectic time so far, here at Hogwarts. Transfigured inkpots and tracking charms, assasination attempts and animagi, mysterious teachers and Quidditch, and there was that trial, too.

"And so ends my first week at Hogwarts." Arasar muttered. "I wonder what the next one will bring."

In fact, the rest of the day, and the day after that, was fairly normal. The only excitement was everyone staring and pointing at Arasar again, just when Arasar had expected all of it to die down. It was fairly annoying, but bearable. That and the fact that the Fat Lady was now too terrified to act as the guardian of Gryffindor Tower now, so Dumbledore arranged to have security troll guard her. Arasar didn't think this was a good idea at all, since the trolls, in his opinion, were too dumb to tell who was friend or foe.

Arasar's spare time was all spent at the library. He could be seen surrounded by books about law, recent crimes and about the Dark Rise of Voldemort, and a stack of Daily Prophets of the last fourteen years. He noted that Hermione seemed equally busy- he noticed mainly because Hermione's favorite table was only a few tables to the left, and her stack of books took up the entire table. She seemed to be studying Divination, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures all at once- something Arasar couldn't understand, since Dumbledore had said a student took only two extra subjects. But Hermione couldn't attend those classes unless she was in fact several clones of herself, could she?

Another excitement was Hogsmeade. There were notices all over the place that said that, unfortunately, due to the danger and risk of going outside, only sixth and seventh years were allowed to go. This caused an outraged uproar from Fred and George Weasley and Ron, Seamus and Dean. But half of the school hadn't got permission from their guardians, or perhaps even more than half, for it was only the Slytherins that really felt safe outside Hogwarts. Arasar didn't really mind- there was no fun, really, in just strolling around a village and doing nothing in particular. But everyone seemed to disagree, so Arasar stayed silent.

Arasar finally found something informative in the Prophet, finally, after looking through fourteen years worth of recent history. There was the arrest of Sirius Black, but there wasn't much Arasar didn't know already. But there seemed to be a missing factor. WHY had Sirius Black gone after Pettigrew? There had to be a reason, an important one, or Pettigrew wouldn't have bothered to frame Sirius and sham dead.

Dumbledore obviously wasn't going to help, since he had already proven he wasn't going to tell Arasar by blocking the memories. But there was someone Arasar could ask, someone who must have known _why _exactly. Someone who must have been close to Sirius and Pettigrew, perhaps even his own father, because the other memory, the one before the explosive scene, of his father, Pettigrew and Sirius talking in a darkened room, something that was connected with the scene that happened after.

There was the perfect person, someone who had been the _fourth _friend. Remus Lupin. But Arasar was scared stiff of him, even though he tried not to show it. But he had _promised _Sirius that he would get him free. Almost, anyway. Arasar had said it confidently enough so it was almost a promise. And another important moral Row had drummed into him was that he should always keep his promises.

This thought was enough to make him decide that he'd ask Lupin the next day.

But he was interrupted by the arrival of the snakes that Wednesday. Two of them, glittering black snakes that were mates, visited Arasar after classes- Arasar had to hide them hurriedly and seal the curtains with the best locking charm he knew, but he wasn't entirely sure if it worked on curtains- and let them out of his sleeves.

The female distastefully spat out an unconscious rat and demanded the reward. Snakes would never succeed at diplomats.

He led them graciously to the kitchens and told the house elves to give them some meat. Preferably raw. He then told the snakes quite firmly that house elves weren't food and said that they were to behave themselves. By the time he got away, it was too late to visit Lupin. With a mixture of annoyance and some relief, because he was scared of Lupin, after all- he told himself that he was going to see Lupin tomorrow, on Thursday.

But that Thursday, after enduring the History of Magic class, which was full of the ghost teacher Binns's sleep inducing droning, and sedately plowing through all his other classes, in which everyone seemed to expect him to pull a stunt again, he was again interrupted by Dumbledore after dinner, when he was planning to follow Lupin and worm some answers out of him, and Dumbledore took some time in telling him that Sirius had been moved to a high security cell at TPCAT, 'Temporary Prison for Criminals Awaiting Trial', and that his trial was to be on the first day of the winter holidays.

Very convenient, thought Arasar, and ran to Lupin's office.

Or he would have, but he was caught by Ron, who demanded to know why Arasar had been spending all his time at the library lately. He would have managed to escape if he had just mumbled something and rushed off again. But that would be rude, so Arasar said blithely and elusively that he was helping out a friend. That let to Ron insisting to know _what_ friend, and Arasar said that was none of his business, was it?

Ron was trying to drag him back to the Gryffindor Tower- perhaps he thought Arasar was trying to go to the library again- and by the time Arasar resignedly checked his watch again, it was again too late to make calls.

But he was determined not to be thwarted on Friday. The Auror would be arriving on Monday, and he would be too busy from then on, probably. So as soon as he finished all his classes, he put on his disguise and waited for Lupin in front of his office door.

To Arasar's relief, Lupin arrived early. He raised an eyebrow and Arasar.

"I haven't seen you before." said Lupin suspiciously. "Those-" his eyes flitted to Arasar's clothes, disguised as a tattered robe, "Those aren't school robes."

Arasar shrugged and let his disguise melt away.

Lupin blinked in surprise.

"Oh." he said. "I was under the impression that you were supposed to return on Tuesday, not today."

"I know." said Arasar. "I needed to ask you something."

Lupin frowned at him. He looked like he was going to refuse for a few moments, and then he looked at Arasar's face and softened.

"All right." he said. "Come in, then."

He opened the door and went in. Arasar followed and closed the door after he was in.

Lupin walked to his desk and sat down, looking seriously at Arasar, who seated himself on a hard wooden chair opposite to him.

"What it is about?"

Arasar drew in his breath and wondered how to phrase his question. Lupin watched him with some wariness.

"It's..." said Arasar uncertainly. "It's about my father."

Lupin's face showed that he hadn't expected this. His eyes widened very slightly, and his shoulders twitched- which was what Drick did when he was surpressing a gasp. Arasar supposed that he'd better not hide his uncertainty. It made Lupin feel sorry for him.

"Yes." he said. "Yes."

"It also concerns a man called Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black." continued Arasar. Lupin's face hardened at the latter's name. Arasar ignored it and plunged on ruthlessly. "I want to know why Sirius Black went- oh, that is- why Peter Pettigrew went after Sirius Black."

Lupin narrowed his eyes at Arasar.

"Now why would you want to know that?" he said. "It doesn't concern you."

Arasar simply looked at Lupin. If he was correct, it DID concern him, and Lupin was lying.

Lupin sighed.

"Yes, then." he said. "I suppose it won't do any harm- now that Black has been captured. You know of the Fidelius charm?"

"Yes." said Arasar, right away. "No one can find a location under the spell unless the Secret Keeper reveals it?"

"Yes." said Lupin. "Yes. The place your parents were living in was under it. Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper- those were risky times, you must understand, and Voldemort was targeting your parents for some reason- and- well, Sirius Black betrayed them to Voldemort."

To Lupin's surprise and relief, Arasar didn't seem phased or even surprised by the information. Instead, he clasped his hands and placed his chin on it, appearing to be thinking deeply. Lupin watched him close his eyes and twist his face in a grave, thoughtful frown.

"And so Peter, one of our other close friends, went after him." said Lupin, sighing. "Black killed him, and killed twelve other muggles at the same time, I'm sorry to say."

Arasar didn't give a sign that he had heard. Instead, his eyebrows met in a puzzled, concentrating frown for a few seconds, and then his face relaxed. He suddenly looked up, opened green eyes glimmering.

"So that was it!" he said. "The switch! That would explain everything."

"Explain what?" said Lupin guardedly, but Arasar had already stood up.

"Thanks, Professor." said Arasar. "What you told me- well- it explains a lot. Thanks."

He nodded politely to Lupin and dashed away.

Lupin's face turned wistful as he watched Arasar shut the door behind him. He was glad that Sirius had been caught- glad in a vicious, horrified way, because Sirius had, after all, once been his friend- but he had killed James, Lily and Peter. At least Harry- Arasar had survived, but he barely knew him and thought of him as just a teacher.

He wasn't going to the trial. He just couldn't bear to see Sirius's face again, the face- the changed face of a man had once been one of his best friends- his best friend who was his best friend no more...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Now that Arasar had the last piece of the puzzle, he was very sure that he could get Sirius off. He had evidence and information. Now all he had to do was to find a way to get to the trial- the Daily Prophet said only family, friends (former ones, at least) and evidence bearers, the Wizengamot and the Minister could be present. He knew that Sirius was his godfather- so they could admit him, and he had evidence, but only adults could attend.

It was this part of the plan that was risky. The only way he could get in was to hope that the guards would let him in once they saw who he was. A not entirely secure plan, but it was the best one Arasar had.

Drick would have disapproved. Azar liked to take risks and always managed to somehow succeed in everything, but Drick didn't believe in dumb luck and believed, pessimistically, that everything would go wrong. Drick would lay a secure road in front of him and walk on it, whereas Azar would dash along on a rope suspended in the air to reach his goad. Arasar preferred Drick's way, but in this case, there was nothing he could do, really.

He pondered on his plan while he wandered back to the Gryffindor Tower. Could he disguise himself again? It would take time to design a believable disguise and manage to slip it over himself- for not the first, or last time, he wished he were a Metamorphmagus- they had it easy, honestly!- but he didn't really think it would work. They would ask for identification, and unless he could fool them as well... and he knew nothing about how the system worked, anyway.

Sneaking in was another option. Then he could reveal himself at the last moment and give evidence before anyone stopped him. But that didn't appeal to him at all. He just resigned himself to the fact that he was stuck with his original plan and stuck his tongue out at the trolls, who just stared at him with blank eyes and thudded their clubs on their enormous, garbage-lid sized hands that stank of- well, never mind, you don't need to know- and gave the Fat Lady the password and entered the Gryffindor common room.

He picked up the stack of homework that was due on Monday and gave it a resigned look and sat down on a squashy armchair and summoned his quill and inkpot from his room.

As Arasar dutifully started writing about the characteristics of muggle technology, he thought that he would have two days- blissful Saturday and Sunday- before that Auror came. That was a comfort, at least. After Monday...

Well, put delicately, Arasar would be very, very busy.

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I will update when you people give me some reviews. It's a deal.

SNEAK PEEK

"Well," Moody continued in his growling voice. "He says you know spells, say you can cast them, too, powerfully, but he says you lack experience." A creepy smile lit up his face fiendishly. "We can fix that."

Arasar wondered what Dumbledore had gotten him into.

Yeah. The Auror is Moody. Sirius's trial is in the next next chapter or so. I'm rather excited about that, because it's going to be SO fun writing it.

AN. One of you reviewed, I quote 'I am a bit confused. Harry is having trouble with his patronus but in class earlier he blew the boggart up? I suprised Harry didn't try to legimens the dog.'  
OK, here's the answer. Harry- or Arasar- is just an ordinary wizard when he isn't using his extra powers, like I said. He has trouble with the Patronus when he isn't 'cheating'. And I explained why Arasar didn't like to just Legilimens people. He respects people's privacies.

AN2. Ok. The trial is on Chapter Eighteen. I have a habit of stalling. Mostly to torture you.

Chapter sixteen: Aurors and Werewolves

TN leaned toward the computer. The dim light lit up her face something ghostly, and her fingers quietly tapped the table in glee. It was the dead of night- and she wasn't supposed to use the computer, really, but no harm done.

"A review!" she said, bating her breath. "And another one! Oh..."

A smile lit up her face and she hugged herself, grinning. Quietly turning off the computer and vowing to update soon, she went to sleep with the pleased smile still on her face.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar spent the entire Saturday morning playing chess with Ron. Ron was a good chess player, but then, so was Dumbledore. And Arasar vaguely had a good idea of what Ron was going to do next and what Ron was trying to do when he moved his pawn to a pointless position. They turned out to be well matched, and it took two hours, and Ron won, but narrowly.

Ron told Arasar a good deal about the Burrow while they were playing. He told him that it was a tall house- not as tall as muggle buildings, of course, and it was being held up by magic. He told him about the gnomes living in the garden where they grew potatoes- and Mum was a good cook, at least in Ron's opinion. Ginny, Ron said, would probably spent the entire holidays spying on Arasar and running away when she was caught.

Arasar listened mindlessly while Ron packed away his chess set, absorbing the knowledge for later. He was still preoccupied and worried about Sirius's trial- he noted that he was calling Sirius Black 'Sirius', not 'Black' or 'Sirius Black'. It had something to do with the way Arasar felt sorry for him very much. He had gone to Azkaban for no crime at all- except the times that he had turned Dumbledore's hair purple, Arasar remembered with some amusement, and Azkaban was full of Dementors. And he knew all too well the effect Dementors had on people. One encounter had given him nightmares for a week.

Monday came too soon. After getting through classes- they weren't that bad, because Malfoy was much more subdued this time, at Magical Creatures class, and Arasar actually had a fairly enjoyable time meeting a Knarl. Knarls were friendly enough if you didn't offer them food.

But at dinner, Professor Dumbledore introduced the Auror - a man called Alastor Moody, ex-Auror, scarred, one magical eyes, a wooden leg and creepily paranoid. He was also teaching Battle Magics, and Dumbledore said that all who wished to attend the classes were welcome to come to Moody's office at Wednesday, seven o clock. Arasar briefly closed his eyes and looked at Moody's piercing magical eye reluctantly. They silently examined each other for a moment.

Arasar liked Moody. Though he was going to have to tread carefully around him- everyone would- he liked Moody. There was a hidden sense of humor behind his gnarled, scarred face. A twisted, strange sense of humor, but a sense of humor nontheless. Moody, he could tell, approved of him too, and was eyeing him, sizing him up.

Dumbledore looked relieved when Moody gave a bark of a laugh and muttered something to him. Arasar speared his tomato and eyed it distastefully.

When Arasar finished his dinner, rather quickly, he played another quick game of chess with Ron- Arasar lost, of course- and stumped to Moody's office and made faces at the door. Before he even raised his hand to knock, Moody opened it.

"No need to scrunch up your face something hideous." he said. "Come in. Dumbledore says I don't have to teach you about Unforgivables and defending spells. Says you know all that."

He looked at Arasar, pausing for confirmation. Arasar nodded at him.

"Well," he continued in his growling voice. "He says you know spells, say you can cast them, too, powerfully, but he says you lack experience." A creepy smile lit up his face fiendishly. "We can fix that."

Arasar wondered what Dumbledore had gotten him into.

Actually, it wasn't so bad. Moody and Arasar started dueling- but Moody won in about thirty seconds, surprising Arasar by suddenly ramming himself with surprising agility for a man with one wooden leg toward Arasar, ducking and tripping him with his leg. His wooden one. Arasar's arm was bruised from stopping himself from slamming onto the floor.

"See, laddie." said Moody. "You saw it coming. You acted, which was actually more than I expected of you. But you were too slow. That is why you need CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"Yes sir." said Arasar, groaning and rolled up.

"We start again." said Moody.

It was fairly interesting. Moody told Arasar to watch him very closely, but direct his senses all around him at the same time, so he could tell if another attacker was coming from behind or left or right. He also told Arasar that if he practiced enough, he could read the opponent's muscle movements- tense, relax, twitch, shudder- but since Arasar knew how to do this, because dueling with swords required the same, Moody gave him a bit of advice to wear gear that couldn't be seen through, since his opponent might know how to do this as well.

Moody told Arasar that he was never to tell anyone what he could do as he knocked Arasar down for the fourth time.

"Got any extra tricks up your sleeve," he growled. "Never reveal them until the time's right, and then bang it on their faces so they don't know what's coming, laddie. CONSTANT VIGILANCE !"

Arasar smirked and moved up and forward, cobra speed, at Moody. But Moody actually caught his wrist as it slashed diagonally at his shoulder and flipped Arasar over.

"Ouch." said Arasar ruefully. Moody just chuckled.

"Yeah, that's constant vigilance all right." he said proudly. "Good work, laddie. Can you punch hard?"

After that Moody had him punching a swing bag full of sand for half an hour.

"Hard!" he roared. "Not with your knuckles, boy, unless you want them broken, yes, like THAT! With the flat of your palm, this time- crook your hand, more- ninety degrees! Thumb crooked back unless you want it bashed and broken!"

It lasted for an agonizing two hours, then Moody ordered Arasar to run for thirty minutes around the castle in the mornings. Groaning pitifully, Arasas exaggerated his limp as he staggered dramatically out of the door, calling a sad farewell to Moody, who just laughed and slammed the door.

"Oh, Merlin." he grumbled as he stumbled into his room and designed a complex magic to make sure he woke up early tomorrow. "I get no end of trouble, do I? And I have Patronus lessons tomorrow."

Oh, happy day.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It wasn't so bad. The air wasn't that cold, amazingly enough. Arasar felt the earth and the air and the lake greet him as he stagger out even before the sun rose and stumbled around the castle with his eyes opened in a crack to make sure he didn't bump into trees. He was in disguise, because he didn't want himself to be recognized staggering about in the grounds like a drunk. After trotting at a half-stumble, he was too sleepy to do anything else, but too awake to get back to sleep. It was an awkward state to be in.

He settled for curling up in a squashy couch and reading the rest of 'Lirael'.

But he fell asleep quite soon, and was awoken later by a judicious looking seventh year.

"No sleeping in the Common Room." she said. "I've never seen you before, anyway. Those aren't Hogwarts robes."

Arasar looked at his jeans, ragged shirt and worn robe in surprise. He didn't remember putting these on- and then he realized his hair was blond and short. He gave the girl a charming smile and stood up.

"Sorry about that." he said insincerely. He knew there was no such rule. He saw plenty of fifth year students snoozing on their essays. "I'll be going now."

He gave her a nasty smile, and dissolved his disguise and stalked away before she could say something- apologize or ask for his autograph, probably.

He walked down to the Great Hall, renewing his disguise again. He was actually getting quite comfortable in it. Smirking at Dean, who gave him an amused look, he made himself an impromptu sandwich and munched on it as he walked to Muggle Studies. He couldn't face eating in the same room as Moody. He was bound to lose his appetite.

He had Potions after Muggle Studies that day. Walking down with Hermione and Neville, the only other Gryffindor besides Hermione who had Muggle Studies, down to Potions, Arasar brooded on Snape. From Dumbledore's knowledge he saw that Snape had a good reason to hate his father. His uncanny resemblance to his father was a curse in these ways. Snape hated him because of his appearance and his ancestry. Blast bloodline loving people like him.

Snape had been a Death Eater, too. He mused, pulling Neville out of the trap step on the stairs for the third time. He'd spied for the Light until a year ago, and had been revealed as a spy, and had escaped with barely his life and was now teaching Potions. But did he really have to be so unpleasant?

Maybe he did. Using Dark Arts corrupted a person, usually, unless that person had a natural affinity to it. Like Azar and Arasar himself. Water and shadow and earth elementals could usually use the Dark Arts without being affected by it. Arasar, as a shadow elemental, could use it with most ease, but he didn't practice it much since people tended to fear it. Especially here. Snape certainly had been affected by it.

Snape glanced at them distastefully, Hermione, Neville and Arasar as they entered, followed by Draco Malfoy and his two goons.

"Potter." said Malfoy snidely as he seated himself near Snape. Arasar turned around and deliberately chose the table farthest from Malfoy. "Scared, are we?"

"I merely," said Arasar, imitating Malfoy's lofty tone, "Did not want to smell the overwhelmingly artificial odor that seems to be coming from you hair, Malfoy."

Malfoy just sneered.

Malfoy, thought Arasar. Didn't use to be so cocky. But he thought that he knew why Malfoy had started to hate him so much when Malfoy glared at him and mouthed 'You are going to pay'. He thought Arasar had played the little trick on him last Monday. He was right, of course. And Arasar wasn't sorry.

Arasar took vicious pleasure in brewing his potion flawlessly and perfectly and presenting it to Snape, who checked it over and snorted. Which meant he could find no fault and didn't want to say anything.

"At least," Arasar said to Ron later. "The holidays are only a week away. Oh, and Ron, I won't be able to go to your house right away because I need to do something first. It'll take a day or less, and I'll get to your place after I'm finished."

"What?" said Ron with his unquenchable curiousity. "I mean, honestly, you've been holed in the library for like, three days straight and then you act really shifty."

"I need to help a friend." said Arasar enigmatically. "I can't tell you." he added as Ron opened his mouth.

"No, it's not that." said Ron, sounding frustrated. "I mean, what friend? You're from the Founders time and you've been at Hogwarts all the time you've been here-"

"Not entirely true..." muttered Arasar.

"And I know that you've not made any friends in desperate trouble." said Ron. "Because none of the students are in bad trouble. Except Malfoy and the others, and they were in trouble from when they were born. And why were you reading books about law, anyway?"

"Never you mind." said Arasar mysteriously. "I'll tell you after it's all over." he said. "I expect it'll be all over the papers, actually." he said, a merry glint in his eyes. "If I succeed, that is. Getting him out of trouble."

Ron snorted.

"You'll do it." he said confidently. "Promise me you'll tell me?" he added pleadingly.

"After it's all over." Arasar said. "Chess?"

They slung down there bags and sat opposite to each other to continue the game they had stopped the last time.

"No one plays chess with me at home." said Ron as he moved his king to the left. "Bill- he's a curse breaker at Gringotts- is too busy, Charlie, who works in Romania with dragons, you'll like him, I promise- is never there, and Percy is busy with studying and being lawful and righteous and writing to his girlfried and Fred and George have plans to conquer the universe and are busy blowing up their room at least twice a day."

"Well." said Arasar, studying the board and pushing his pawn forth to protect his rook, which was protecting the queen, which was covering his other bishop, which was placed perfectly and discreetly at the end of the board and ready to checkmate Ron's king. "What about your sister?"

"Ginny doesn't like chess." said Ron, noticing the bishop and moving forth his rook to block the bishop's path. Arasar groaned and flicked forth his king. "She can't stand losing, in my opinion. Dad's too busy, too, trying not to lose his job AND tinkering with his little toys in the garage, and Mum can't play chess."

"Hmm." said Arasar, making a mistake in moving forth his knight.

"Check!" said Ron triumphantly. "I win!"

"Gah!" said Arasar.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

After lunch, they went to Defense, only to find that Snape was teaching, not Lupin. Arasar stared at him in utter dismay and just stopped himself from groaning aloud.

Ron had no such amount of enormous self control, however, and gasped indignantly, face turning red and angry.

"Not again!" he exclaimed before anyone could stop him.

"Yes." said Snape, an unpleasant smile twisting his features. "Me. Lupin is... ah, shall we say- temporarily indisposed." Ron opened his mouth, but Snape interrupted before he had even started. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mr Weasley."

Bother. Thought Arasar. Lupin was supposed to train me on the Patronus today. He closed his eyes, raised his eyebrows and radiated clearly saintly patience and sat down, face still frozen in the expression of strong saintly patience. It was bound to annoy Snape.

It did. Snape was still glaring at Arasar when everyone had arrived. He cleared his throat softly and menacingly, still glaring at Arasar.

"Page 394." he said, smirking.

"Sir," began Hermione. "We haven't learned that far yet, sir. We've only just covered Boggarts and redcaps and kelp-"

"Page 394." repeated Snape menacingly. Hermione blushed and opened her book.

Arasar found the page and read the title

WEREWOLVES.

The word made his stomach flip madly and his head pound. But he still didn't understand. The word had triggered something unknown- It was so familiar, the word, and unfamiliar as well, because Arasar didn't know much about them and just knew they turned into wolves at the full moon. 'Full moon' triggered another flip flopping of his stomach, and he knew his face was turning pale. And he couldn't for the life of him tell WHY.

Hermione was staring at the page, too, Arasar noted through his futile concentration. The feeling was going away, but he tried to hang on to it so he could find out why he was feeling like this- not knowing, knowing his subconscious knew, but not knowing. It was the most maddening feeling he had ever known. Hermione was narrowing her eyes at the page, face only a few inches away from the page as if she were trying find out something she didn't know.

Arasar followed her example and read the page. To his exasperation, the feeling had gone away entirely and the information he was reading didn't bring it back or make realization dawn.

_Werewolves are one of the most feared creatures in this continent, and others as well. Werewolves turn into wolves on the full moon, and cannot control their actions. Werewolves can infect humans, who, when bitten, become werewolves as well. Bitten people usually die, but the resilient ones survive and are doomed to a fate of incurable lycanthropy. _

_Werewolves can only infect humans. Animals are immune to the poison, but not the bite, naturally. But werewolves prefer humans and actively seek them as their prey..._

Arasar glared at the page in exasperation. Not a thing. He knew that werewolves were important- perhaps it was the answer to a problem he had encountered long ago, but he couldn't recall the question itself. Not knowing, in Arasar's opinion, was one of the worst punishments that could happen to him.

Because of that, he really couldn't concentrate during the lesson and mulled over the strange recognization he had felt when he had read the word. Just a word, 'Werewolves'. But he didn't know any werewolves. Row hadn't taught him much about them, and Azar hadn't, either. Helga didn't like animals very much and Drick was useless with animals. Werewolves. Why did it make him so jumpy? Why did it make him feel like there was something very, very important about them?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lupin, thankfully, was back the next day. Or so Ron said. Arasar, after coming back from his daily jog that Moody had commanded him to run, was told by Ron that Lupin was back.

They didn't have defense that day, and Arasar didn't see Lupin at the meals, either. It was only at evening, when he walked to Lupin's office for his Patronus lessons when he finally saw him.

"Come in." Lupin's voice said. Arasar opened the door and stepped in. "Sorry about yesterday. I chose the wrong day to have lessons with you. Are you attending the Battle Magics class? Because if you are, I'll have to speed up this lesson."

But Arasar had felt Lupin's wildness again, and suddenly, everything had clicked into place in his mind. He barely heard Lupin's words, and started at Lupin with an unreadable face incredulously. Then he started to laugh.

Lupin stared at him as if to say, 'Are you quite sane?' as Arasar chuckled, biting his lip.

"You!" said Arasar. "I didn't know at first. I should have. But then Snape came along and then I almost knew. Now I do. You're a werewolf, aren't you?"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AN. Well. First of all- cliffie. Review. I might update faster.

AN2. Arasar knew only that there had been a 'switch' but he didn't know WHAT switch it had been until Lupin explained about the Fidelius charm, and then everything clicked for Arasar. Switched Secret Keepers, see.

AN3. I repeat. Review. I now decree that I will update only when I have a minimum of a certain amount of reviews I will be satisfied can help now by reviewing, if you want.

Chapter seventeen: A Horrible Cliffhanger

This chapter is dedicated to Miss Whiskers, writer of 'Adrift in a World', one of the best fanfics ever written because she actually updated today... Cheers.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lupin stared at Arasar. There was panic and fear in his eyes, though he hid it well. If it had been someone else, he wouldn't have noticed.

"Well." he said calmly. "You know."

"I do." said Arasar. "And it explains everything. Mind if we have a little talk before the lesson?"

"Of course." said Lupin levelly. "Sit down."

Arasar complied and looked at Lupin straightly.

"First, you are a werewolf." said Arasar. "Second, you were friends with my father, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. Third, they were all Animagi."

Lupin went very, very still and stared at Arasar in utter shock.

"Yes." said Arasar. "I see it's true. Do you mind if I ask you what animal my father was?"

"Stag." said Lupin. "We called him- We used to call him Prongs."

"Prongs." said Arasar, tasting the word in his mouth. "Prongs. And Si- er, Black?"

"Padfoot." said Lupin quickly as if he couldn't bear to say the word.

"Pettigrew?"

"Wormtail..."

"And you?"

"Moony."

Arasar smirked. "Whoever thought of that? Nice pun."

Lupin hesitated. "Your father did." he said, after a pause. They stared at each other for a few moments, awkwardly.

"Look." said Arasar after hesitating. "I know you think I don't like you, but that's not really true. I was insensitive and didn't realize at first that... Well, that my father-" the word sounded strange, coming from him- "Was your friend. It was just that I sensed something really strange about you and well- I was suspicious."

"I noticed." said Lupin, his voice trembling slightly. "Yes, I must admit I took your suspicious for hostility."

"Sorry." said Arasar. "Snape just taught us about werewolves, you see, and I just realized as I came here. That explains everything I've been wondering about."

"What?"

"Why exactly they became Animagi, for one." said Arasar, his voice trembling too, but with laughter. He could see that Lupin was extremely confused. "I'd been wondering about that."

"But how did you _know_?!"

Arasar raised an eyebrow.

"That is for me to know and you to pursue until I tell you." he said maddeningly. "I expect you'll find out quite soon. And now, the Patronus?"

Lupin blinked, as if he had forgotten why Arasar had come for in the first place.

"Yes." he said. "Yes."

To Arasar's frustration, he didn't seem to have improved at all. The Patronus was definitely a bird, but it was faint and misty and all it would do is keep back the Dementor temporarily. Then it would break down and the Dementor would come swooping at him again.

"Interesting." said Lupin as he tapped Arasar's forehead and brought him back to consciousness for the third time. He seemed to have recovered remarkably well from the shock of Arasar knowing his secret. "Most people have problem conjuring one in the first place, and if they do, it's a mist. You Patronus has a definite form, but it fades."

"Oh, I'm unique." said Arasar sarcastically as he stood up. "One more time?" he said.

"One." said Lupin. "Then you go." There was something he wasn't saying. Arasar knew what it was.

"Don't worry." he said with a smile. "I have no intention of telling anyone about your problem, if that's what you were going to ask."

Lupin sagged visibly with relief.

"Very well." he said, regaining composure in half a second. "On three. One-"

Flying- diving in the cold air- not heartfreezingly cold, a cool, enjoyable breeze brushing gently his face as he passed through it-

"Two-"

Tremblingly taking off his hands from the broom, sitting up, outstretched hands and cautious, risky joy-

"Three!"

"Expecto Patronum!"

The raven came out again, more strongly this time and cawed a silent croak of defiance as it stretched its wings, much like Arasar had outstretched his arms toward the sky in his memory, and flew gracefully toward the Dementor. The Dementor glided back, something it hadn't done before. With a burst of hope- he was definitely improving- Arasar concentrated on the bird, willing it to keep being real from the distance.

Then the raven faded, despite all of Arasar's efforts, and the Dementor glided toward Arasar again... the screaming rang in his ears, and grew real and loud...

"Riddikulus!"

Arasar heard the voice- Lupin's voice- in the distance. The coldness faded and Arasar waveringly stood.

"That's it." said Lupin firmly. "End for tomorrow. Here," he said, pushing a small pack of chocolates toward Arasar. "The best Honeydukes has to offer. Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood."

Arasar stood up, clutching the pack and smiling waveringly.

"Thanks." he said. "Thanks."

He went out.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The last week before the holidays were cheerful. Now that Arasar knew that Lupin was a werewolf and was dangerous only on the full moon, he found it much easier to act natural around him. Lupin obviously felt the same way and they got along much better after that.

Battle Magics, which was taught by Moody, was an interesting class. Moody taught them much about war tactics- Ron was especially interested here- and the kind of spells used in battle, which Hermione was fascinated in. Half the Ravenclaws were taking notes, and even a few Slytherins appeared.

Training from Moody wasn't even that bad. Moody would use a new move or describe the ones he couldn't perform, due to his wooden leg, so Arasar would know how to counter it. He also had Arasar practicing punches and different kinds of kicks and even judo moves on the heavy punching bag, something Arasar didn't really like. It was monotonous, and he still have to get up every morning to stumble around Hogwarts in the dark. But he was actually getting used to it.

His enchanted shoes were enormous help, too. But Moody, after the second lesson, told him to take them off and 'use them only in a real fight'. He said that using ordinary shoes would make him better. Arasar had to agree, albeit reluctantly. Moody didn't seem very cheerful at the prospect of the holidays, unlike the teachers and the students.

The students were all happy because they could take a break from lessons. The teachers unanimously agreed that they were joyful because they wouldn't have to teach. From this, Arasar amusedly concluded that teachers and students didn't get along.

"Not Granger, though." said Ron industriously copying Arasar's essay, trying to use synonyms so his would differ, albeit only slightly. "She loves them. What's the betting she'll end up married to Snape?"

"Zero." said Arasar, watching the snowing outside. "Snape is too ugly."

"But so is Granger!" said Ron, blowing on his ink splattered hands. "They're perfect for each other."

Neville, who was copying next to Ron, looked a little green.

"I don't think that's really fair, Ron." he said hesitantly. "I mean, Granger just like studying. She isn't that bad."

Ron made a face at Arasar, who ignored him.

"She should have been a Ravenclaw." said Neville. "I mean, brains and all."

"She's smart." agreed Ron reluctantly.

"The fact she came to Gryffindor means that she's braver than she's smart." said Arasar with a hint of laughter in his voice. "What's all this about Granger, Ron? You seem quite obsessed with her. Granger this, Granger that. Are you really sure you're not in love with her?"

Ron went bright red and started copying.

Soon after that, McGonagall went around, taking the names of the students who were staying at Hogwarts. She looked inquiringly at Arasar when Arasar shook his head when she pointed her quill at him.

"I'm going with Ron, Professor." he said. "His family invited me to their home."

"Are you indeed?" she said. "Does Professor Dumbledore know?"

"Probably." said Arasar, grinning. "He knows everything."

McGonagall snorted, smiling a thin lipped smile.

"Sometimes I think he does." she said. "Mr Longbottom?"

"I'm staying here." said Neville adamantly. McGonagall looked at him over her spectacles in an unusually kind way.

"Very well, then." she said, and moved away.

Arasar looked at Neville strangely. Neville, who was bowed over his Divination homework, didn't notice. Dumbledore's memories said that Neville lived with his grandmother. Because- but that memory was dim and misty and in the distance of Arasar's mind, in the place Arasar had classified as 'the I don't want to know' memory store.

Arasar shrugged and bent over the careful essay he'd been writing for the Muggle Studies class. It was about the similarities between Muggle racism and pureblood bigotry. Professor Elgumton had been quite frank about the fact that he found pureblood prejudice stupid. Arasar had agreed.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The next two days were quiet, but Arasar grew steadily more nervous. He wasn't that sure if he could get Sirius off, and he wasn't sure if he could get to the trial in the first place. He didn't know anything and wasn't sure about anything. But he would try his best. That was the only thing he could do. At least he had Pettigrew, still in his glass case with about nine different wards on it and in stasis.

After Arasar watched everyone except the students staying back at Hogwarts board the Express, he Apparated to the Ministry. Dumbledore had already left for the trial, and all the other Professors were at Hogwarts.

Arasar, relying entirely on Dumbledore's memories, walked into the Ministry without being noticed and headed toward the old courtrooms where the trial was being held. He wasn't wearing his disguise at all, but he had his hood up so all that could be seen of his face was his mouth and the lower half of his nose. He had to stop to think about the way he had taken and go back and take another turn several times, until he was sure he would be late.

He was also confused by the way the Ministry was lit as he went near the courtrooms. The place seemed to be designed to be confusing on purpose. He found himself walking through the same corridors more than once- when he could tell, anyway, because they all looked the same, and he was glad that he had come early and wondering if he would ever get out of the labyrinthe.

But he found the place. There were two men guarding the door. Arasar bowed to them politely, trying not to pant- he had been running- and said

"Can I get in, please?"

They sneered at him.

"You're late, laddie." said one.

"You're not of age." chimed the other.

Arasar simply looked at them.

"Family is allowed in." he said. "Dumbledore told me."

"Oh, Dumbledore told him, eh?" said the one on the left to the one on the right with a nasty smirk on his face. "Nah, can't convince us, laddie. Don't try to weasel your way in. What your name, anyway? Supposed connection to Sirius Black?"

Arasar checked his watch. The trial would be starting by now, and he was determined not to be late.

"I'm his godson." he said. "My name's Arasar Gryffindor-Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw-Slytherin, by alphebetical order, but some call me Harry Potter because my real name's a mouthful."

The one of the right went pale, but the left one looked unconvinced.

"Prove it." he said. "Plenty of fakes around here, laddie."

Arasar flicked away his hood so it fell away and pushed up his fringe so they could see his scar.

"Move." he said, flicking his hood back up again. They both moved away, staring at him with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and hesitation. Arasar ignored them and pushed the door open.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know this chapter is a thousand or so words shorter than my usual. But I update very quickly, I think most of you agree on that. (Leers)

My reviews varied from 'it's very rude of you to demand reviews' and 'great update' to a laconic 'good' to everything else. Ah, well. It's a writer's life to bear thrown anvils, flaming swords and barbed comments alike with patience and stony hardness. Well, I won't demand reviews, but I'll go as far to say that I appreciate them a lot.

Oh, and I'm going to New Zealand today, and I might not be able to update for two or so weeks if I don't have access to a computer. Let's hope, for the sake of my sanity, that I do.


	12. The Rest iii

Chapter Eighteen: Trial

The door creaked open and a hooded youth came in as Fudge was starting to read aloud from the piece of parchment.

"And who the heck do you think _you_ are?" demanded Fudge belligrently, eyeing Arasar's tattered, worn robe, muggle jeans, just as worn, and his out-of-fashion-for-a-thousand-years tunic under his robe with utter disdain.

"Witness for defense." Arasar answered lazily. "Family, to-be friend and evidence bearer. I have every right to be here."

Fudge ignored the guard behind Arasar, who was making to move to stop him and was, in fac, gesturing wildly at Fudge to stop talking. Instead, he drew his plump and unimpressive self up and glared at the stranger. Dumbledore, who was seated behind Fudge and had been looking supremely unconcerned and cool until then, recognized Arasar's voice and opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and merely leaned forward, looking intrigued. Sirius looked up, a faint, doubtful trace of hope his his blank gray eyes.

"How old are you?" said Fudge triumphantly.

"Thirteen." Arasar said with no hesitation.

"Underage." said Fudge. The guard was still shaking his head furiously at Fudge, but Fudge plowed on. "Only seventeen and up allowed." he said. "I don't know what you think you're doing here, young man, but you get get out _now_."

The boy looked at him.

"Oh, you." he said as if he had just noticed him. "I need to talk to you after all this," he said, as if he were in control of the situation. Which he was. "My name's Harry Potter, but I usually go by Arasar."

Fudge, and all of the Wizengamot except Dumbledore and a few of the people who were the crowd gasped. The two reporters who had been allowed in scribbled furiously in their pads. They hadn't been allowed their cameras, to their sorrow.

Fudge snapped his mouth shut and instantly became sweet and obliging.

"Of course I'll speak to you," he began warmly. Than he stopped, frowing and remembering what Arasar had said. "Wait. Family? Evidence bearer? Witness for defense?"

"Yes." said Arasar, pausing and kindly giving the reporters time to catch up on their conversation. "I'm Sirius Black's godson. And I do have evidence. Continue with the trial, please. I'll give the evidence when you call me."

Arasar shut the door with his foot and scrambled down a few seats and settled himself comfortably where he could see everything. Sirius was staring to look visibly hopeful, and he looked at Arasar wonderingly as if to say 'How do you think you are going to get away with all this?'

Arasar smirked, Slytherin style, and glance at Fudge, who was looking ruffled and confused.

"Yes-" he said, looking like a wilting flower. "Yes. Sirius Black, age thirty three, accused of the murders of twelve muggles, names Charlotte, Imogen and Fenella Melford and Will Howard, Ned and Selina Jenkins, Audrey Chambers and Amber McGill, Harvey Smith, Andy, Bella and Jean Knight. One wizard, name Peter Pettigrew. Also accused of betraying-"

Here Fudge's nervous gazed flitted to Arasar, who was looking bored but attentive, with the look of one mindlessly memorizing information.

"Also accused of betraying James and Lily Potter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

There were several gasps from the people who hadn't known this.

"Your parents, I believe." said Fudge to Arasar, who was still looking bored.

"Never knew them." said Arasar. "Go on."

"Yes." said Fudge. "Also guilty of breaking out of Azkaban before your time to be freed. Guilty of joining He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, guilty of attempted kidnapping of one Harry James Potter-"

Arasar looked at Sirius in astonishment. Fudge noticed, and a smile fltted across his face.

"Just after he killed your parents." he said loftily. "Didn't know that? Thought so. He tried to take you away, I believe. The murder of twelve muggles-" here Fudge's tone turned to a drone again to match Binns's- "and one wizard were witnessed by muggles and several Aurors that arrived on the scene. The fact that Sirius Black was the Potter's Secret Keeper was practically public knowledge. So is the fact that he is a Death Eater and attempted to kidnap, and presumably murder the cause of his Lord's downfall."

Fudge cast another glance at Arasar.

"I now call of the witness of defense." he said.

Arasar nodded at Fudge.

"Ladies and gentlemen and everyone who is listening," he began, "I now turn your attention, if I may, to the possibility that Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew arranged, at the last moment, to switch places."

There was an astonished silence. Arasar smiled, bitterly.

"At that time, the Potters were aware that there was a traitor in their midst." continued Arasar. "They assumed that it was Remus Lupin, another close friend of theirs, and arranged to have Sirius Black as their Secret Keeper. I'm assuming that everyone here knows of the Fidelius Charm. However, Sirius Black switched places at the last moment with Peter Pettigrew, who was the real traitor, and arranged Peter Pettigrew to be Secret Keeper, while they told everyone that it was Sirius Black that was Secret Keeper."  
He gave another pause to let everyone arrange their thoughts. Sirius was gazing at Arasar wonderingly. Arasar smirked at him again.

"After betraying the Potters, Peter Pettigrew faced Sirius Black and pretended that it was he who had tracked Black down, and blasted apart the street with his wand behind his back-"

"Preposturous!" said Fudge angrily. "Mr Potter," he said, addressing Arasar, "It is a good story, indeed, but that possibility is impossible. Peter Pettigrew died."

"No one saw his body." Arasar countered. "He cut of his finger and faked his death."

"How did he get away, then?" said Fudge, sounding triumphant again. "How?"

"Simple." said Arasar, grinning. "Peter Pettigrew was an Animagus."

There was a dumbstruck silence. Fudge stood up.

"Proof!" he said in an unusually quiet voice.

"A rat Animagus," continued Arasar, ignoring Fudge. "He escaped to the sewers and waited, posing as the pet of a wizarding family until Voldemort-" there were flinches and winces- "Rose again, and Pettigrew rejoined him but remained with the wizarding family he was hiding behind. It was his cover. Through Pettigrew, Voldemort successfully infiltrated Hogwarts. I imagine that Pettigrew was given orders to kill me sometime."

"Prove it!" said Fudge angrily.

Arasar's answer was to toss a thin gray rat onto the floor. There was another dead silence. Sirius stood up, rage burning in his eyes.

"Pettigrew!" he said and tried to lunge at the unconscious rodent on the ground.

"Sirius!" said Arasar forcefully. "Shut up and sit down."

There was another amazed pause in which everyone stared at Arasar, who was glaring at Sirius, and Sirius, who reluctantly sat down on the chair again.

"Untransform the rat and give him Veritaserum." said Arasar coldly. "I'm sure he'll confess."

"Er." said Fudge uncertainly, wavering between kicking Arasar out and yielding as graciously as possible. He settled for yielding. "Yes. Dawlish? Bring the Veritaserum."

A man hurried out of the door and there was another uncomfortable silence broken by the quiet sound of quills scribbling on parchment as the reporters caught up on the conversation. Sirius was glaring murderously at the rat, while Arasar kept him from springing up again by fixing his contemptuously cool green eyes on him. The crowd's gaze flickered between the intrigued looking Dumbledore, the red faced Fudge, the sulky looking accused and the sole witness for defense.

Dawlish hurried back, holding a vial of what seemed to be water.

"Administer the Veritaserum." said Fudge in what sounded, to Arasar, like a needlessly pompous and formal sounding voice.

Dawlish obeyed, none too gracefully. He stepped for, uncorking the vial, and looked confused for a second before pointing his wand at the rat and muttering a spell. The rat morphed into a man, Sirius clenched his fists and the crowd gasped at the sight of the man.

Dawlish seemed just as surprised and met Arasar's cool green gaze. Arasar gave him a slight nod, as if telling him to go on, and Dawlish hurried forward and poured a few drops into the former Marauder's mouth.

"Er." he said uncertainly and pointed his wand at him again. "Ennervate!"

"Eh." said Pettigrew as his eyes opened slowly. His eyes were dull and empty.

Everyone was silent, staring at Pettigrew.

"Name?" said Dumbledore as no one said anything.

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Were you the Potters's Secret Keeper?" Fudge demanded before Dumbledore could say anything else, as Dawlish backed away and humbly stood besides him.

"Yes." said Pettigrew.

"You framed Sirius Black?"

"Yes."

"Are you an Animagus?"

"I would have thought it was obvious." muttered Arasar.

"Yes."

"Since when? You have not registered."

"My fifth year at Hogwarts. Because we... ah...ahh..."

"He's under oath." said Sirius. "We swore- in our old school days that we wouldn't tell anyone about..."

"Lupin." said Arasar. Everyone's attention turned back to him, vividly interested. "Lupin, Pettigrew, Black and Potter. The four friends, known as the 'Marauders'. Lupin was a werewolf, and Black, Potter and Pettigrew turned into Animagi to keep him company during the full moon."

"Prepostur-" Fudge started again, but Dumbledore held his hand out in front of him.

"How did you find out?" he asked. "I didn't want you knowing quite this soon."

"I found out." said Arasar. "Like I always do."

"Animagi." said Dumbledore thoughtfully, rubbing his white beard. "Never thought of that, though it explains... Yes. It's logical. I see, now."

Fudge was getting purpler and purpler.

"Peter Pettigrew. Did you kill twelve muggles and betray the Potters to the Dark Lord?" Fudge demanded.

There was a faint, dim spark of resistance in Pettigrew's eyes, then it was gone.

"Yes."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

That seemed to be the end of it. There was more pompous sounding droning from Fudge, and 'hereby sentence you, Peter Pettigrew on the charges of framing an innocent man, joining He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and betraying the Potters, killing twelve muggles, blah blah blah'. There was also 'Full pardon to Sirius Black, with the Ministry's heartfelt apologies and the compensation money of five hundred galleons. You may now go free, and thou hast been pardoned for being an illegal Animagus, and we shall generously forgive thou for helping thou friend.' Or something like that.

There was also the clamour of the two reporters that somehow seemed to fill Arasar's entire range of vision and demanded questions at him. 'Which wizarding household exactly, Mr Potter?' or 'Mr Potter, how did you come to find this evidence?' and 'Mr Potter, how do you feel now that you have your godfather back?'

Arasar batted them away fiercely and turned toward the Minister. He still needed to talk to him, disgusting as the man was. But Fudge was right behind him, looking uncomfortable.

"Er." said Fudge. "Usually, at the end of the trial, the forgiven accused will be taken away by family... or friends... But since there aren't any of them-"

"There's me." said Arasar. "He's coming with me. And you!" The last words were directed at the reporters, who tensed and looked at Arasar. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't put the part about Sirius being an Animagus into the papers. The last thing he needs is being recognized. He needs some peace. And the part about Remus Lupin being a werewolf is going to be private, too, or I shall be very angry with you. And you don't want that, do you?" he said in a coldly menacing voice. They both nodded and hurried away.

The reporters nodded and tiptoed away. Sirius looked at Arasar gratefully and seemed to be about to speak, but Arasar cut him off brusquely.

"Minister, I need to talk to you." said Arasar. "Sirius, you wait here. Good evening, Headmaster. I'll see you at Hogwarts at the end of the holidays."

The Minister was looking visibly nervous as Arasar approached him.

"Shall- shall we go talk in my office?"

"Yes." said Arasar.

They Flooed to the office. The sight of his familiar room seemed to reassure Fudge. He had almost all of his confidence back as he faced Arasar, seated in a large, comfortable chair. He looked almost jolly.

"Harry." he said. "What is it you need to talk to me about?"

"You see," began Arasar delicately. "You see, I am currently of the targets of Voldemort-" Fudge flinched- "And I'm afraid the rule about underage students being unable to perform magic of any kind outside Hogwarts restricts me dreadfully. I am totally vulnerable and unable to defend myself-"

Fudge got the point.

"Of course!" he said. "Of course, Harry. I see that. Very well."

He stood up and took a piece of parchment out of a cabinet.

"Hereby..." Fudge murmured. "Declare one Harry James Potter to be unrestricted... Exception to rule UM2..."

He scribbled for another ten seconds and signed with a flourish.

"There." he said, rolling up the parchment and handing it to Arasar, who took it graciously. "I hope it will be helpful, Harry."

"Oh, it will." he said sweetly. "I'm very grateful, Minister."

Fudge smiled.

"Off you go, now." he said. "I'm sure we'll meet again."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Minister." said Arasar blandly. He was a good liar. He turned around and marched out.

Sirius was waiting.

"Turn to Padfoot again, please." said Arasar wearily. "I got permission to use magic outside Hogwarts." he added, seeing the inquiring look in Sirius's eyes.

Sirius obligingly turned into a dog again.

"Don't attract attention." Arasar murmured as he slipped into his disguise and found his way back to the outside fairly quickly. They both slipped out of the door, which people never used, and landed with a gentle _thud_ in an empty muggle street. Night had fallen, and the usual London rain had turned, in the coldness, into London snow, and it was lightly snowing under the starry heavens.

Arasar called the Knight Bus and boarded it with his new dog.

"I'll call you Padfoot, shall I?" Arasar murmured to Sirius as he sat down after paying promptly. Sirius stared at Arasar. He was clearly saying, 'I have a lot of questions for you, mister.'

Arasar shrugged. Questions would have to wait.

It was about six when the Knight Bus halted in front of a muggle bus stop in Ottery St. Catchpole. Arasar nodded politely to the bus conducter and the driver and leapt down from the bus. The bus, with a burst of noise and magic, vanished and Arasar and Padfoot stared at the empty patch of road where the bus had been.

"Come on." said Arasar. "My friend Ron, remember?" he added as Padfoot looked hesitant. "The one who thought you were trying to kill him. He invited me to his house for the holidays."

That didn't seem to reassure the black canine, but Padfoot trotted besides him unwillingly when Arasar stuck his hands into his pockets and walked to the small forest to the north, where, according to Dumbledore's memories, there was a clearing and the Weasley's house. If he was correct.

"I'll need to buy a leash for you." said Arasar to break the silence. It was snowing here, too, and the snow crunched in a satisfying way under his enchanted shoes. Padfoot looked at him indignantly and Arasar just shrugged. "To keep up your disguise, I mean." he said unhelpfully.

They found a slim road leading into the forest. In the night, it looked creepy. The space between the trees were filled with more trees and plant and darkness. Padfoot looked bothered by it. The path, to him, looked like it had been abruptly cut off by shadows a few meters in.

Arasar was, however, unbothered and merely walked in. Padfoot whined anxiously and followed.

Padfoot seemed disturbed by the darkness. His eyes dimly glowed pale blue in the darkness, and seemed larger in it. Arasar's eyes glowed too, in a catlike way, but he didn't know. He had no trouble seeing in the darkness, and neither did the dog, but the dog looked at Arasar, walking on the narrow path with his hands in his pockets with no problem at all, and wondered.

Arasar was a mystery to Sirius. Sirius had first encountered Arasar when Sirius had gone dashing off to Hogwarts, desperate for a glimpse, just a glimpse of the boy that they said so resembled his father. Then Arasar had spoken to him- not through his mouth, but with his mind. Sirius talked with other dogs and had heard them answer, but humans never understood their language and had never spoken it, of course.

He had incidentally seen Pettigrew a few days after that. Arasar had been walking with his friend, the redheaded boy called Ron, and he had seen a familiar gray rat sitting, confidently, almost jauntily on his shoulder, twitching his tail. Sirius had been disbelieving- he had actually found him- and worried, because he had known that Wormtail was bound to try to kill Harry sometime soon.

And Harry, however powerful the papers said he was, wasn't invincible. Sirius knew that all too well. Hadn't he, James and Remus and Wormtail thought that too? The Marauders. They had thought themselves clever and infallable. But see what had happened to them now...

Harry- or Arasar- was an excellent flyer, too. Sirius had been struck by that. But where James had talent, excellent talent, yes, but just talent- Harry had genius. He wasn't much used to flying, but he flew almost expertly. If he trained well for a few years, he might play for England, something James had always wanted to do.

He had also gotten used to Harry doing weird things secretly. Flying without brooms, walking on water, parting shadows and making Sirius reveal himself with just words- he had felt no control over himself, it was like being under an Imperius curse, without the pleasure and the voice in his head. All Harry had done was command him- 'Come out, dog!'- and he had obeyed. Just like that. That had disturbed Sirius. How many more secrets did Harry have?

After seeing Wormtail, he had set out to kill him two nights after. But he'd failed, somehow. Arasar somehow had known he was there and stopped him. And he had somehow probed his mind with Legilimency- and Sirius knew Legilimency wasn't the easiest thing to learn- and had found out the truth. Sirius was grateful. Arasar had found Wormtail somehow, too. That left more questions than answers, as life always was, and Sirius was now half afraid of Harry. His own godson.

Blessed moonlight broke out suddenly, all around them. They looked at the snowing clearing and looked back at the dark woods. The dense trees had stopped the snow from coming in.

The Burrow was covered with a thin layer of snow as well. Arasar's lips turned up slightly at the sight of its uneven stories and its irregular shape and walked to the door, gently parting the wards surrounding it with some effort, and knocked on the door.

"Whose there?" asked a voice after a few second. "Identify yourself."

"Arasar and his pet dog, Padfoot." said Arasar. "Ron's friend."

The door creaked open dubiously and a redheaded woman in a flowered apron stared at them.

"Arasar!" she said, beaming. "Ron's told us so much about you. Come in."

She noticed the dog and frowned.

"Is the dog house-trained?" she asked sharply, hand going to the doorknob again.

"Very well trained." Arasar assured her. "His name is Padfoot. You'll find him more intelligent than most."

"Well, then." said Mrs Weasley, and opened the door to it's fullest.

The door opened to the kitchen. The entire family had heard their conversation and had stood up, smiling. They were a friendly looking lot, Arasar thought, looking at their warm faces. Though they all looked a bit naive. That wasn't an insult.

He stepped inside, scanning faces. The one with the very noticeable fang earring must be Bill- the shorter, stockier one was Charlie, of course, and there was Percy, looking formal and polite. Fred and George, who Arasar could only vaguely tell apart, and Ron. There was Ginny, a girl that looked familiar. He had seen her once or twice in the common room. The family resemblance was very clear, and Arasar wondered how he could have missed it. And Mr Weasley, of course, a thin man with a kind face- red hair, naturally, and going bald.

Mrs Weasley shut the door and ushered Arasar into an empty chair between Mr Weasley and Ron.

"I've been dying to meet you." said Charlie cheerfully, setting down his spoon. "Mum sent me an owl, saying that I _must_ come home and leave all those 'horrible dragons'. She was very hush-hush about the reason, though Ron told me as soon as I got here."

"Gringotts gave me a break." Bill told him. "The goblin boss- Goldhook, his name is, and right ugly he is too- let me go when I said my mum wanted me to meet Harry Potter. Chuckled for some reason and said to give you his regards."

"Tell him that I return them." said Arasar. The other Weasleys looked at them, looking confused. "His real name is Malythur, by the way. Lord Malythur."

"How did you know that?" asked Bill, snatching the last piece of chicken before Ron's fork speared it. "Goblins never bother to tell you their goblin names."

"I asked." said Arasar. "The last time I was there."

He was about to ask Bill more about Gringotts when Padfoot put a soft paw on his jeans and whined at him entreatingly. Arasar grinned and selected a piece of brocolli and handed it to him. Padfoot nosed it and back off, somehow making faces, something that would have been impossible on a dog's face.

Arasar smiled, contented, and continued eating dinner, passing Padfoot something or another during the meal. There were no lessons, and he would sleep until noon tomorrow. No morning jogs, no paranoid Aurors to keep him on his toes, no greasy slimeballs to glare at him, no people to point at him- well, there was Ginny, but he could tolerate her- well- sort of, anyway.

He felt that he deserved this holiday.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Padfoot is innocent. Yay. I had loads of trouble getting internet access. MIGHT not be able to update regularly for the rest of the trip. I'll try my best.

Toodles

Chapter Nineteen: Werewolf's Visit

Chapter Nineteen: A Werewolf's Visit/Marauder Identities

Disclaimer: Not me, I don't!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

_No. No. No!_

_Those words reverberated, echoing again and again in his mind as Remus Lupin stared, horrified, and the day's Daily Prophet. The headlines screamed that Sirius Black was innocent, and there was the article below, that Remus took in without registering._

_That is, until the name 'Harry Potter' came up._

_His vision sharply focused on the name. Harry. What did he had to do with all this? He started from the beginning again._

_'It looked at first that Sirius Black was going to be inevitably and certainly going to be sent back to Azkaban with a heavier sentence...'_

_Remus closed his eyes, and the hand that had been grasping his cup of tea shook, and his knuckles shone pale in the dim lamplight. Sirius. Innocent? It didn't make sense. All those years he had went on, hating him with all his might for taking away all of his friends and betraying them- no, it couldn't be- they must have made a mistake._

_But he read on, opening his eyes again._

_'...Just reading out the sentence when suddenly, Harry Potter came in, announcing that he was to be the witness for defence. After a short conversation between the Minister, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, the Minister accepted Harry Potter as an acceptable Witness and the trial began...'_

_He skipped the charges that Sirius had been accused of. He didn't want to see the words 'murder of Lily and James Potter' yet again. He had seen them too many times pointlessly. But his eye caught the flourished 'P' in Peter Pettigrew, and his heart beat painfully as he read on, stopping for a moment at the words 'attempted kidnapping of Harry Potter' and moved on again._

_'...when the witness for defense suddenly produced startling evidence: Peter Pettigrew was still alive and had been hiding in a wizarding household (Harry Potter did not reveal which one it was) in the form of a rat, as was his Animagus form. _

_The teacup fell from his fingers and shattered._

_His eyes stared blankly at the following paragraph. His mind registered a few words and phrases... 'Pettigrew framed Sirius Black' and 'Pettigrew responsible for the two major crimes Black accused of' and 'mistaken man for over a decade' and finally, 'Sirius Black exited the courtroom in the company of Harry Potter, who claims that he will take him, since he is the man's family...'_

_But there's me, too, thought Remus. His best friend at least. The last one. But some friend I was. I gave evidence myself against him. My best friend._

_He folded the newspaper neatly and walked to his chair, collapsing on it with his hands on his face. Muttering a few words at the spilled tea and the broken teacup, he didn't even bother to see the amber liquid on the floor vanish without a trace and the teacup neatly fold together and fly back to the sink. Sirius. Innocent. Those two words had been incompatible for twelve years, until now, when they had joined like two pieces of a puzzle that were so glaringly obvious that they belonged together. _

_He had no idea what to do. Sirius- Sirius- he tried to form an apology in his mind, one that he could say to him, but he couldn't get beyond the first word. Sirius. I'm sorry. But that's not enough, is it?_

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

After dinner, Arasar was too sleepy to do anything but yawn. After stumbling to bed- he was too tired even to talk to Fred and George, who had been making meaningful motions at him during the meal- and went right to sleep, thinking, before falling asleep, that he would finally get to sleep late. Until noon, he planned, but he didn't get to sleep late after all. In the early hours of the morning, he was awoken by a scream.

It wasn't a loud scream or a terrified one. It had more surprise than panic in it, but it awoke Arasar. Sleepily flailing in his blankets, he rolled out of his bed, bringing his bedcover with him. Padfoot awoke, too, and watched him in an amused way.

"Shut up." said Arasar to Padfoot and stumbled downstairs. Padfoot followed him.

It was Mrs Weasley, who was bent over the newspaper and shaking her head. Two pink hair rollers dislodged themselves and fell to the floor, but she didn't notice.

"Sirius Black." said Mrs Weasley, disbelief threaded into her words. "Innocent!"

Padfoot whined anxiously from behind Arasar. Arasar bent his knees slightly to stroke Padfoot's silky head, the part between his ears.

"Can you believe it?" he said mirthfully.

Mrs Weasley was still scanning the article with her eyes and gave a gasp.

"Harry James Potter, the sole witness for defense..." she read aloud. "Gave evidence that Sirius Black was truly innocent... Proved that Peter Pettigrew was alive and had framed Sirius Black... Rat Animagus..."

Mrs Weasley stared at Arasar again, eyes wide with shock.

"You- so the so called 'friend' you were helping was Sirius Black!" she exclaimed. "How..."

"Surprising, isn't it?" said Arasar. "I had to defend him, since he was innocent. And he was my godfather, after all."

"Was he?" asked Mrs Weasley, staring at the newspaper, with her elbows on it. "'After the trial, Sirius Black exited the courtroom in the company of Harry Potter, who claimed that he would take him, since he was the man's family...' Connections, here it is- Godfather, is he? Where did you put him?"

"He's somewhere safe." said Arasar brightly.

"That's good." said Mrs Weasley distractedly as Bill came down, rubbing his eyes.

"What set mum off?" he said sleepily, pulling out a chair and collapsing on it.

As an answer, Mrs Weasley tossed the newspaper at him. Bill read it without taking in anything, and set it down and yawned. "Very interesting." he said."But Mum, honestly, what did you have to scream so loudly for- hey, wait, that's Sirius Black!"

He grabbed the paper and read it with new interest. Arasar smiled and went outside, gently shutting the door behind him.

It had snowed while he had been asleep. Even the forest was white, and it didn't seem as menacing as it had the night before in the pale pink dawn sunlight. There was a eight inch layer of snow on everything, and Arasar felt that the world had grown larger- or perhaps he had shrunk?

A tall tree that stood slightly apart from the rest of the forest had hundreds- or thousands- of branches that split off into more branches, that split of into twigs that twinned and quadrupleted. The effect was like seeing a stag's white antlers.

Padfoot had somehow followed him out of the house and was staring at the tree, too. He looked very out of place in the white snow- a splotch of black fur in the whiteness.

The snow was at the stage when it was soft and easy to make into snowballs. Arasar gathered a mound of it- it barely dented the white surface of the thick snow- and pushed into a decent snowball and hurled it at Padfoot.

Padfoot hadn't been expecting it and barked with surprise. He shook himself- spraying everything with a fresh layer of snow- and barked again, loudly and humorously, rolled in the snow twice and hurled himself at Arasar.

Somehow- Arasar didn't really know how- Bill, Fred and George and Ron had joined in as well. It was each man on his own, and Arasar, like everyone else, hurled snowballs that were barely round at everyone he could see. Charlie, Ron had told him at Hogwarts, needed three cups of black coffee before he could open his eyes and talk properly in the mornings, which probably explained why he hadn't joined in yet. By the time the sun had risen fully and was casting its still-pale light on everything, everyone was entirely covered in snow, and the only way they could tell Arasar apart from everyone else was that he had black hair, where everyone else had red.

He was still snow covered and barely recognizable when he heard a nervous throat-clearing sound. He looked up, and saw Professor Lupin, looking uneasy and pale.

He just stared at Lupin, slightly disbelieving. Lupin didn't seem very natural in the Weasley home- he was wearing what seemed to be his best robes, though they looked distinctly worn. His eyes distractedly and disturbedly moved from Arasar to Bill, to Charlie, who had joined them by then and was only slightly less covered with snow than the others, and Ron, Fred and George. He cleared his throat nervously again and looked at Arasar, who brushed the snow from his face and shook himself much like Padfoot had shaken himself to rid himself of the snow. Padfoot had gone inside for warmth and comfort, and most of all, some cocoa, when the snow and the excitement had become too much for him, some fifteen minutes ago.

"I-" he said uncertainly. "Arasar- I was told- I read in the papers that you had taken Sirius Black with you..."

He looked at Arasar for confirmation and Arasar gave him a nod.

"I..." he said. "I wanted to... see him."

At that moment, Padfoot trotted out again, his black fur glowing and ready to rejoin the war, and stopped in dismay at the sight of Lupin. Lupin looked at the dog, and his teeth clenched, in nervousness, not anger.

"Damn." said Arasar under his breath. "So much for a peaceful holiday." He drew in his breath. "How did you know where to find me?" he asked in his normal voice.

"Dumbledore told me." answered Lupin, eyes turning back to Arasar.

Arasar didn't ask how Dumbledore had known he was here. The man knew everything, to his mind.

"Padfoot." he said. "I need you to go in. Ron, Gred, Forge, all of you, can you get inside while I have a word with Professor Lupin?"

"Er." said Charlie. "Sure."

Fred gave him a narrowed look- or it could be George- and they all went in with Padfoot. The door opened enough for Arasar to hear Mrs Weasley exclaim something about 'the state of you' and it shut again and he was left, facing an uncomfortable looking Professor Lupin.

"What do you want to talk to me about?" he said.

"You can tell me first why you're here." said Arasar. "To apologize?"

"Something like that." said Professor Lupin. "I was once his best friend, as you know."

"I know." said Arasar. "I wanted to talk to you to give Sirius some time to collect his thoughts and try to work out what to say to you, really. And decide if he wants to forgive you. But we might as well talk."

"If you like." said Lupin.

"Want to go out to the muggle village to talk?" offered Arasar. "Less chances of being overheard." he said, noticing the listening charm on the door. Fred and George, or Ron.

"Yes." said Lupin.

The walk through the woods seemed unbelievably shorter than it had last night. Perhaps it had been darkness that night, though Arasar liked the darkness. Darkness always seemed to make everything slower, especially coming sleep.

"I feel as if I would have known you very well." said Arasar abruptly as the last pale shadow of the trees fell away from them. "If things hadn't been the way they turned out to be."

"Yes." said Lupin. "I thought so, too."

"If my parents hadn't died." said Arasar, kicking some snow away. "I might have known you as an uncle, maybe-" _One that loved me, unlike my real one._ he added silently in his mind. "I'd be familiar with you. Like you quite a lot."

"I thought so, too." said Lupin, wonderingly. "I- I was very amazed when I read the papers today."

"I can imagine." said Arasar dryly. "I see I'll need to give you time to collect yourself, too. Upset, are you?"

"Very." Lupin admitted frankly as they walked through the snow covered town. Christmas was only a week away, and the place was thick with shoppers, but they took a less crowded path. "I know I need to say I'm sorry- and ask him to forgive me for thinking he was guilty- but I can't somehow really think of what to say."

"Your mouth goes dry." said Arasar wisely. "Try not to do something wrong, then. Then you'll not have any need to say it."

"True." said Lupin, giving a joyless laugh. "Who told you that?"

"Row." said Arasar. "Rowena, you know. Hammered morals into me, you'll be glad to hear."

They walked silently for a few more minutes.

"I was amazed." said Lupin suddenly. "You, of all people, were the one to prove him innocent. You, who people expected to hate him most of all. He killed your parents and ruined your life, practically. And you're young. Just thirteen."

"Youth doesn't mean I don't know things." said Arasar soberly. "I have a lot of influence, something I need to get used to. I have money too, another thing I need to get used to. My guardians taught me that the three things guaranteed to make you powerful are magic, money and politics. Helga said that the fourth was knowledge, but Drick said that people didn't really care if a person was smart or not. Money talked in those days." He didn't mention that he had magic, too. That was one thing he wasn't going to tell anyone quite yet.

"It still does." said Lupin.

"I know." said Arasar. "Another reason I wanted to talk to you is if my parents left me any estates- houses or so."

Lupin stared at him in some surprise. Arasar smiled at him.

"Need a place to stay in during the holidays." he explained. "If there aren't any, I can go back to the Dursleys- the place I used to live in before I went to the past- but I'm not keen on that, I'm afraid."

"Oh." said Lupin. "Well, there is Godric's Hollow- but it's in ruins, now, rebuilding something there will cost millions- and Meadow Home, your grandparent's house- but as I remember, your parents left it to someone else, and I don't think there's really anything else- Oh yes, and there's Weed House."

"Eh?" asked Arasar.

"Weed House." repeated Lupin, smiling ruefully. "A small cottage besides a mountain, I think. Unplottable. Your mother used to say that if she and James ever had a bad fight, she'd go there with you until your father was sorry enough and she had forgiven him. I'd forgotten it because James mentioned it to me only in passing, one day. The name was her idea of a joke. I think she left it to you, actually."

"Wonderful." said Arasar, deciding that he had definitely inherited his twisted sense of humor from his mother. "I'll go there this summer. Ready to face Sirius?"

"Well." said Lupin dubiously. "I suppose I'll think of something to say to him on the way back. Yes, I suppose."

So they turned around and headed back to the woods. They hadn't come a very long way, actually, and they were back at the Burrow in barely no time.

Lupin was noticeably more pale as he gave a jerky sigh and pushed open the door. Arasar followed, face bland. Padfoot was lying besides the fireplace- and by the looks of him, he'd spent the time preparing for the meeting, too. There was a resigned, tense air about the dog.

"I'll leave you to suffer, then." said Arasar lightly, escaping trouble when he could. He met Fred, George and Ron on the first step.

"What's up, mate?" Ron hissed at him, three pairs of arms pulling him up the stairs and dragging him toward Ron's room. "Why's LUPIN doing here? And mum showed me the papers. Sirius Black? I mean, mate..."

They pushed him inside Ron's room, where Charlie, Bill and Ginny were awaiting.

"Okay." said Bill dubiously. "Sirius Black. Harry Potter. Trial. Explain."

"Sirius was my godfather." said Arasar. "Plus, I found out he was innocent, using devious tricks and breaking rules along the way. Laws, actually." Legilimency was illegal, unless performed with consent of the Ministry. "So I did it."

"You have got to be the strangest friend I've ever had." muttered Ron, bouncing on the bed.

"Yeah." said Fred. "Why is Professor Lupin here, then?"

"Well," said Arasar, sitting on the bed, too. "Professor Lupin was Sirus's friend- like a really long time ago, and I think he wanted to say sorry. For thinking he was guilty and everything."

"Yeah, but why did he come here?" persisted Charlie.

"I know where he is." said Arasar, shrugging. "And he knows I know. All over the papers, as you all know. Your mum told him to have a cup of tea or something before he went off to see him, so he said yes."

"I thought so." said Charlie. "It makes sense."

Fred and George shrugged at each other and looked at Arasar curiously in a way that made Arasar think that they had some questions for him. But then, he'd postponed their talk last night.

"Right." George said in a deceptively unconcerned voice, and stood up, giving Arasar and Fred a meaningful look. "We're going to our room. See you all."

He strolled out, followed by Fred, and then Arasar, who waved nonachalantly at the others before the door shut.

"Right." said Fred. "I've been meaning to ask you, where did you get the name 'Padfoot'?"

Arasar blinked at them innocently.

"Right." said George, sounding exactly like his twin. "Another question. Have you ever heard of the names 'Prongs' or 'Moony'?"

Arasar coughed hackingly and sat down abruptly, coughs turning into sputtering laughs.

"No wonder you're pranksters!" he said after he caught his breath. "Found something of theirs, did you? The Marauders. That's what you're talking about, isn't it?"

Fred and George grinned suddenly, looking not quite saintly.

"Yes." they said in unison. "Do you know who they are?" Fred said eagerly.

"I do." said Arasar. "And it's not turned at all well, actually. They never made it to pranking stardom. You'd better ask Professor Lupin before he goes, because he knows better than I do."

"Professor Lupin?" George said. "Really? Somehow, I never quite thought of him as pranking material."

"He does." said Arasar. "He was Moony, you know."

This time, it was Fred who broke out into hacking coughs while George grinned.

"A Marauder in our house!" he said blissfully. "I think we'd better interrogate him now."

He was about to elephant down the stairs when Arasar grabbed his robes.

"Not now, I'm afraid." he said. "He's having a happy little reunion with Master Padfoot."

They both looked at him in confusion before turning white.

"Padfoot!" said George. "You mean he's-"

"He was-" said Fred at the same time.

"Sirius Black." Arasar finished for them. "Yes. You'd better not tell anyone."

They both stared at Arasar, deadly serious for once.

"Yes." said Fred at last. "Of course we won't tell anyone. Look, Arasar- are you really sure he's innocent? Dead sure?"

"Swear on the red locks." said Arasar. "It was Peter Pettigrew, remember? AKA Wormtail."

They winced.

"Right." said George. "And who is Prongs, by the way?" he added hopefully. It was almost too good to be true that they would finally know who all the Marauders were at last-

"His name was James Potter." said Arasar, grinning faintly as he walked downstairs for a drink, leaving two thunderstruck Weasleys behind him.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Well, at least it's not a cliffie! 'kay, I LIKE REVIEWS.

Toodles

PS. Can anyone tell me what the 'Just in' thing is for?

Chapter Twenty: Christmas

_Disclaimer: Tenebrae Nivalis felt a warm, fuzzy, sentimal sense of pride rise up in her chest and cloud her eyes. She was a genius! She had a potential! She was absolutely FABULOUS! She was SO talented in... _

_Being bored._

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

_The most horrible thing of all, thought Remus as he watched, breath hitching in his throat like it always did when he felt tears coming- Sirius transform back to a human being, was that he was still Sirius, but grotesquely changed. _

_His hair was long and uncombed, though he looked much better then those horrid posters he was always featured as a mass murderer in. His eyes were blank, hollow, deadened, and his skin was yellowish- unhealthy, and stretched over his bones. Even through his baggy clothes Remus could see that he was thin, barely more than skin and bone, and his eyes stared at Remus as uncertainly as Remus felt._

_"Sirius." said Remus. All the apologies he'd been designing flew out of his mind at the sight of Sirius's familiar- but changed face. All he had in his mind was blank horror. "I-"_

_Sirius appeared to be equally at loss for words. His thin, bony shoulders moved in a vain imitation of a haughty shrug._

_"I'm sorry." said Remus, words coming out in a rush. "I should have known that it wasn't you, I should have at least thought about the whole damned thing, not wallow in self pity. I should have done some research, at least-" he was rambling, he realized to late, and his clamped his mouth shut to stop the torrent of unsaid words, all desperate and senseless, that were in his mind._

_"It's all right." Sirius said, voice a croak, as if it hadn't been used for a long time. "Evidence was against me, Remus, and it's me that should be sorry for trusting Peter I should have known, too, and it's my fault that James is dead, and Lily."_

_They just stood there, avoiding each other's eyes for a few moments, when Sirius attempted at a smile, and his fingers grasped Remus's hand. _

_"It's all right." Sirius repeated. "I think, knowing you, that you've been trying to work out how to say sorry to me, and you don't have to. It's not all your fault, you know. It's Peter's fault, all of it."_

_That took a load of his heart, that Sirius thought so, though Remus didn't entirely believe it himself._

_"Thanks." he said. _

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

Arasar stole into the room silently. Sirius was a dog, and Professor Lupin was sitting on a chair, with a cup of tea in his hand, talking to the dog.

"...been working at a muggle shop before I became Professor, because I can't get a job at the Ministry or any other wizarding faculty or anything. My actions have been monitored ever since Voldemort rose again, and my wand has limiters on it. Dumbledore's tried protesting, but all magical creatures that are intelligent and have a name for being dark are being watched."

"Er, hem!" Arasar said.

They both whipped around, looking guilty.

"Much as you like talking to my dog," said Arasar pleasantly. "I'm afraid this isn't really my home, Professor Lupin."

"Oh." said Lupin, sounding embarassed. "Yes. Sorry. Er- how can I contact Sirius?"

"His name is Padfoot." said Arasar, staring at Lupin meaningfully. "You can contact me with a school owl, if you want."

"Yes, then." said Lupin, rising to go. "Tell Mrs Weasley I'm sorry I came without warning." he added as he stepped out of the house- crunched on the snow and Apparated away.

Arasar watched him go and shrugged, sighing. Thinking that he really had to cut his hair as if fell into his eyes yet again, he yawned and headed back to the inner parts of the house, where it was warmer. His feet were practically mauve with the cold.

"Blue." he said piteously to Padfoot, who whined in sympathy as he trotted at Arasar's heel as he thankfully burrowed his toes into the thick carpet in the living room. "I should wear enchanted socks." he said feelingly as he put a warming charm on his feet and hands, for a good measure. Padfoot wagged his tail and yawned.

Arasar noticed that Padfoot was looking much better- alive. His skin was still taut against his ribcage, and his black fur was lank, but he'd be better. Or so Arasar hoped. But the dog's eyes glowed with soft, mischievous appeal- and Arasar couldn't help grinning as he looked into them.

He summoned 'Lirael' from his trunk, one finger stroking Padfoot's head as he read.

The peace lasted only for five minutes when Fred burst into the room, giving Arasar a quick grin and a wink as he dashed out of the room and into the kitchen, by the sounds of it, knocking over a pan and several dishes as he went through, closely followed by Percy, red faced with rage.

"Is this house never quiet?" asked Arasar piteously.

It wasn't. After a filling lunch, Arasar was dragged out again to play in the endless snow. This time, the fun was more organized and it turned into a snow sculpture contest. Ginny was busy making the shape of a hand, and Fred and George were making a giant badge that had 'BIGHEAD B' on it so far. Ron and Arasar united against the others and were busy with making a miniature Hogwarts.

It was strange. Back at home- thousand years away- he had always been busy with learning things. He had always liked learning things, knowing more than others and feeling a secret superiority to the rest of the student population. He'd preferred that to competing and revealing his skills. He'd never known anything quite like this- a houseful of redheaded people who knew each other very well, fought and made up and lived, just like that. He was both confused about it and happy with it.

Ah, homelife, thought Arasar, not quite sarcastically, and continued to knead persistently at the two inch high model of Hagrid's cabin.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"Three days until Christmas." said Ron with relish as he bounced on the bed, spreading his arms rapturously in an angel pose. "Mum says we're all going Christmas shopping tomorrow." he added. "We- er-" his face went a pink- "Don't have a lot of money, and stuff are a lot more expensive since the war- but-"

"Go shopping in Muggle London." suggested Arasar, eyes fixed on his book. Padfoot thumped his tail, next to him. "Things will be cheaper there."

"Oh, but-" Ron began, then thought about it. "Um. Do muggles have anything decent?"

"Socks, shirts, more plugs than you can count, electrical thingummies and barbie dolls." said Arasar brightly.

"Eh?"

"Never mind." said Arasar. "Yes, they do, in fact."

"Well." said Ron doubtfully. "I suppose I'll have a lesser chance of running into anyone I don't want to meet." _you mean Malfoy or any of his posse. _Arasar thought privately. "I'll talk to Dad about that." said Ron, and bounced out of his bed and down the stairs.

Dimly, on the lower floor, Arasar could hear Percy yelling about something, Charlie shouting back, Fred and George thumping about in their room, and Bill's voice rising over all the din. Arasar winced and went back to his book.

"Good heavens, citizens!" muttered Arasar. "What a family."

Padfoot let out a bark and wagged his tail. Arasar absently dug his fingers into Padfoot's fur.

"And you need a bath." he continued. "You stink more than the Disreputable Dog."

Padfoot looked at him as if he was saying 'EH?!'

"Never mind." said Arasar. "I fancy you're not the sort to like a good novel or two-"

Padfoot growled.

"Of course not." said Arasar wiltingly and rolled over onto his back and arranged himself artfully and comfortably across the bed. "You were always too busy flirting with girls."

Padfoot sniffed indignantly and dropped out of the bed with immense dignity and trotted downstairs for someone who would appreciate him more with the same immense dignity. Tail arched into a haughty pose, he loped downstairs with his head stiffly leaning forth. He looked ridiculous, and Arasar laughed as he rolled over again and continued with his book.

There was no other word to describe Arasar's first vacation here, a thousand year into the future- or perhaps the present- except 'lazy'. Arasar's time was spent either in a snowball fight or sleeping or reading or trying to study in vain. The entire Weasley family- especially Percy, Fred and George- engaged in at least two fights every day. By the looks of it, the parents had long since given up trying to calm down their children.

Fred and George, of course, badgered Arasar in their free time about the Marauders. Arasar's answers were sometimes a touch sarcastic- especially when he was busy with his head in his book- but they didn't give up, all the same. Food, of course, was wonderful despite the war going on and expensive prices of everything.

But the bothersome thing about a crowded family was that holidays were such a messy affair, Arasar thought as he dipped his quill into a pot of ink to draw up his list of planned presents for everyone. Not that he minded. But there was Professor Lupin, because Arasar was determined to be nice to him since he knew that his father had been his best friend, and there was Sirius.

Not to mention all the Weasleys.

"Oh, gads." Arasar groaned and banished the witchlight he'd conjured to see in the dark with. He crawled into bed, and shoved Sirius off it.

"No sleeping on the beds for doggies." he grunted. "Go to Ron if you want sympathy. Go on."

Sirius gave him a pathetic look and thumped to Ron's bed and leapt lightly on it and stared at Arasar sadly. Arasar rolled his eyes and fell asleep soon.

They went shopping that afternoon the next day. Arasar nonachalantly split up with the others, saying quite reasonably that one had to do his shopping in private, and escaped to Muggle London, away from the stares.

With hearty relief, he bought a basic electricity experiment set, and the most boring book he could find for Percy, a soapstone carving of a miniature dragon for Charlie- (30 percent off, nice, strong, realistic and cheap!) that he planned to animate with magic later on- and the second most boring book he could find about becoming a successful person for Fred and George. They would find it hilarious, he knew. There was the most outrageous earring he could find for Bill. But his inspiration ran out when he tried to find something for Ginny and Mrs Weasley because they were female, and he had absolutely no idea about females. He just fished out a regal looking hairbrush from a stack of other regal looking hair things for Ginny, and just hoped that she'd like it.

He bought some cooking things for Mrs Weasley, because he had no idea what she'd like, and was back in Diagon Alley in time to meet the Weasleys after buying a _mimbulus mimbletonia _for Neville, since he liked Neville- all of them except Percy, who Mr Weasley said was in Flourish and Blotts, reading a book called 'Head Boys who gained Power'.

"Sequel to 'Prefects who gained Power.'" said Charlie wryly. "He's been waiting for the book for a year."

"Oof." said Arasar, making a pained face.

Bill rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"I'll go get him." said Fred and George at the same time.

"Oh, not you." said Mrs Weasley forcefully. "Mr Flourish had to stay in the store til midnight to clean up the mess you made the last time you entered that shop."

She strode toward the bookstore.

"Forceful personality, she has." murmured Arasar.

"We know that." said Mr Weasley ruefully.

"Too well." said Ginny.

"Right." said Arasar.

After a few minutes, Mrs Weasley dragged out what looked like an extremely reluctant looking Percy back to the rest of the group.

"Gads." he said, grumbling. "And I was on the third chapter. Can't you buy it for me?"

"No." said Mrs Weasley firmly. "The price is ridiculous."

"It's useless, too." added George.

"Absolutely full of hogwash." agreed Fred.

"Babbling boredom." said George.

"Gabbling nonsense." said Fred.

"Shut up!" said Mrs Weasley, patience drawing to an end. She looked like a redheaded volcano about to explode. Fred and George both flinched, then gave their mother sweet, saintly looks.

"Not a single word out of you until we go home." she said firmly. "Floo, now."

They trudged to the public Floo and payed for ten people's transport through the dusty fireplace. Arasar lazily incantated 'the Burrow!' and was surrounded by emerald green fire that warmed him and whirled him and dumped him rather ungracefully onto the Burrow living room.

Arasar had vanished all the soot he- and the others before him- had shaken onto the floor, and sighed in exasperation and Ron whirled into sight and dumped another boatload of soot onto the floor again.

"Gads." he said and bent to stroke Padfoot, who had been left behind to be miserable on his own. He wagged his tail- which was fluffier and shinier and looking much healthier than it had been in the courtroom. Fred grinned evilly at Padfoot and gave him a thumbs up.

Arasar coughed quietly and headed to Ron's room to organize and hide his presents.

"Okay." he murmured to himself as he experimentally flicked his wand at the soapstone dragon, and watched it give a silent roar, then go to sleep. "That's fine. Percy will love my little gift, I'm sure. Bill can have his with my love and Mrs Weasley's blessing. She'll be most pleased to hear that he's gained another pirate earring."

He neatly stacked some of the fiction books he'd bought and gave them a flick with his wand. Thin, brown ropes sprang out of the table and neatly wrapped themselves around them. He conjured another piece of muggle paper from his trunk and wrote on it, 'Since I thought you needed a change of reading material for once. -Arasar-', and attached it to the books. Carefully putting the rare plant that he'd bought for Neville into a stasis and putting it under his desk- the mimbletonia was a nocturnal plant, and the underside of his desk was dark enough- he hopelessly stared at the rest of his stack and gave it up, promising himself that he'd all wrap them in transfigured wrapping paper tomorrow.

Arasar had used a complicated piece of magic to transfigure a stray plug he'd found rolling around the house into a regal looking black owl to deliver his stack of books to Hermione. A screwdriver became another black owl that headed out, a speck of black in the dimly moonlit air, carrying the mimbulus mimbletonia to Neville.

He thankfully spent the time until dinner playing another game of chess with Ron, oversaw by Padfoot, who tried to look intelligent as his eyes crossed several times at the chessboard. Arasar bit back a laugh as he triumphantly set down his bishop in front of Ron's pawn.

"Checkmate!" he said. Ron made a face.

"It's better, this way." he said. "I have a really good opponent now. I need the practice."

"Probably." agreed Arasar as they both went to eat.

They stuffed themselves, of course. Mrs Weasley was the greatest cook he'd ever known. Arasar just stopped himself from pigging out, unlike Ron, who was still groaning with both a stomachache and satisfaction when he went to sleep. Arasar held a short conversation with Helga and Drick- because the other two were busy- before he, too, fell asleep.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It snowed again on Christmas day. That could have had something to do with Arasar, not that Arasar would ever admit it, of course. They all- even Percy- had a snowball fight before returning, drenched, cold, fingers mauve but happy, to eat a second breakfast.

The Ceremony of the Presents- as Fred and George called it- began after that. It wasn't all that regal, actually, they just read the cards, smiled, and burrowed into their presents and yelled with joy (or in Mrs Weasley's case when she saw Bill's new pirate earring... not.)

He handed out his presents to everyone else and heard Mr Weasley exclaiming appreciatively over the electricity set, Mrs Weasley spar with Bill over his new earring, (Bill liked it very much) Charlie laugh at the antics of the moving dragon, and watched Ron look at the ball with the carol singing redheaded angel in it with some confusion.

He himself got a sweater from Mrs Weasley, an emerald green one with a golden A on it. He was glad that Mrs Weasley hadn't knitted an H. That would have been awkward, because he still hadn't gotten used to his new name. Fred and George gave him a new chess set and told him, in whispers, that it was designed to make him win against Ron. They took the very boring book from him with some expectation, read the introduction, and for some reason, burst out in laughter over it. Percy was curled up in the couch, rapt in the new book Arasar had bought him.

"This is nearly as good as 'Head Boys who gained Power.'." he said, briefly pausing to look at Arasar. "I'm glad that some one has been sensible enough to give something I really appreciate."

Arasar looked at the rubber chicken- previously wand- discarded on another sofa and grinned.

"Yes." he said.

Padfoot sat on his haunches and glared at him expectantly.

Arasar took a chew-bone out of his pocket and offered it to him. Padfoot growled. Arasar simply laughed quietly.

"Mr Weasley?" he said, enlargening his voice and deepening it so it went through the din. "I'm going to Hogwarts for a short visit this afternoon."

"Yes, that's all right." he said, examining a switch. "Come back before dark." he added, almost like a real parent. Arasar smiled and nodded, ruffling Sirius's fur. Padfoot rumbled indignantly.

Arasar simply laughed.

"Lupin's going to get a surprise visit." he said.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I have now decided how and when Draco Malfoy becomes important in the plot. Cheers!

Also... the planned pairing is...

You know, frankly, I've changed my mind. Originally, it WAS HarryGinny, but I think that is a very unsuitable pairing. I don't write romance, anyway. Never did. If I suddenly get an urge to write it, I might change my mind again. I also might change my mind if I get enough votes about it.

But for the meantime... (makes a hideous face) It remains HPNC.

Nonexistent character.

AN1. 'Prefects Who Gained Power'. Anyone remember that book?

AN2: FINALLY! I finished the Multerrarum Trilogy, and I'm going to be able to concentrate- er, FULL TIME on this fic.

Chapter 21: Vault 917

Happy 2007! Here is a little New Years day gift. You can repay me by... clicking that blue-purple button down there.

May my misfortunate life be lightened up by an occasional flash of luck. It's a number 7, so maybe it might be possible.

H a P p y n e w y e a R m a y t h e r e s t O f y o u r l i f e b e f o r t u n a t e w h i C h i s n t l i K e l y b u t i w i S h y o u g o o d l u c k a l l t h e s a m e .

Neville had been surprised when he had come back from Saint Mungos to visit his parents to Hogwarts. There was a package waiting for him. For him. Gran never got him anything except socks, which had already been presented to him three sizes too small. He had two gum wrappers in his pocket from his mother. At first he had thought it was a mistake, but the regal looking night black owl hooted at him and jerked its beak at him impatiently. Neville undid the string, and the package neatly fell apart.

It was an ugly, stunted looking plant, but Neville recognized it. A mimbulus mimbletonia! Rare, it was. He experimentally prodded it two inches above the dirt. It squirted out some water that would slowly turn into an inky substance with magical powers when it was grown. It was real. Really real.

He removed the pot and read the message below, written in pearly ink and in spidery, delicate looking handwriting that he recognized as Arasar's.

It simply said

'I thought you might enjoy it.'

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Hermione Granger, meanwhile, was having a similar experience at home when an owl dropped a neatly tied up stack of books at her sofa during breakfast. Paula Granger, her mother, raised here eyebrows as Hermione stared at it. No one from Hogwarts sent her presents.

As she frowned at it and cut it with a pair of scissors her father silently handed her, the books tumbled out from the neat stack, and Hermione ruefully looked at the stack of fiction books that were scattered on the sofa. There was a note, she noticed at a closer glance. She read it, eyebrows rising higher every moment, and she chuckled lightly.

"Should have known." she said, still grinning. "It's just like him to..."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Remus Lupin was also extremely surprised when someone knocked on his door. Opening it, he found a disgruntled looking black dog with a pink bow around his neck.

He stifled a laugh at the sight of his old friend.

"I trust you're doing well?" he said, summoning another cup and pouring some tea into it. Sirius turned back into a human at that moment, making clawing motions at his throat to untangle the pink ribbon.

"Fine." Sirius groaned, collapsing into the chair. "Arasar told Fred and George Weasley who I was." he said. "They worship us, apparently. The Marauders."

Remus chuckled and pushed the cup at Sirius, sitting down on the opposite side as well. "I might have guessed. McGonagall thinks they're us reborn."

"Us!" said Sirius, bringing down his teacup to the table, spilling some tea on his hand. Sirius hissed with pain and shook it. "No one can beat me in Marauding, as you know, Remus. How did they find out about us, anyway? Find something of ours? Marauders Map?"

Remus shrugged. "I was hoping you would know" he said. "Last time I knew, it was still safe in Filch's office."

"Best safeguard we ever thought of." Sirius said, grinning. "Filch."

"James thought it was a great joke." said Remus remiscently.

They were carefully not mentioning Peter, because Peter had had a great deal to say about their special idea, too. James had regarded it as the greatest secret joke they'd ever pulled- Peter agreed, and they both remembered, but they didn't mention it.

"So." said Remus, sipping his tea in a way that was overly casual.

Sirius examined himself critically.

"Not bad." he said. "Mrs Weasley is a great cook. She dotes on me, sweet little doggy that I am."

Remus chuckled again.

"And... Harry?" he said.

Sirius shrugged, looking almost sullky.

"It's like out positions are switched!" he said exasperatedly. "He's the one who gets me out of trouble and just arranged everything comfortably for me."

"I never thought you'd make a good parent figure." said Remus dryly, taking another sip of tea. "You were always too irresponsible."

"Yes." said Sirius. "I was."

"Er." said Remus. "What's he doing now?"

"Didn't tell me." said Sirius.

"Did he not tell you, or did you not ask?"

"I didn't ask."

"Thought so." said Remus. "You should have asked. He doesn't tell lies, though he always dodges questions if he can."

Sirius grinned. "I know."

While they chatted about other things, Arasar jauntily went down to Hogsmeade. There had to be place he could cut his hair. It was attracting too much attention.

He found a barber's shop, but it was out in the muggle section of Hogsmeade, a little south of it. As Arasar sweetly smiled at the old lady who was curling her hair tsked and said disapprovingly of hairstyles this century, a harried looking man came to him and said that he could take him now.

"Just cut it, please." said Arasar. "Can you do something with it so it lies flat?"

The man eyed his hair critically and laughed.

"I know that type of hair, lad." he said, guffawing. "That kind never settles down. And it'll be black til the day you die, I guarantee. It's that sort."

"Oh." said Arasar disappointedly.

It took only a few minutes. The man talked as he whirled his muggle thingly across Arasar's head. He told him about his two sons, Thomas and Jason, and Jason's twin sister, Polly, who was the most beautiful little girl that the man had ever seen. It was parent sentiment, Arasar decided after a minute of listening. The man would change his mind about his sweet daughter when she was adolescent and moody.

Arasar was shocked by the amount of black, two feet long hair that glistened on the floor when he was done. The man handed him a mirror, and Arasar couldn't help but sputter with laughter at the similarity to Snape's hairstyle, without the greasiness. It was longish, reaching his chin, about, which was almost exactly like Snape's. It stuck out in sleek spikes at the back of his head.

"I look like a Knarl." he muttered.

"I thought you'd like some hair left long." said the man, quite reasonably. Arasar was pleased. His head felt light- he hadn't realized how heavy his hair had been.

"Thanks." he said. "How much?"

The man, Arasar was grateful to see, had left his fringe. It still covered his scar. He looked almost normal- a boy with dark hair, spiky hair and green eyes, wearing a robe-like coat over his baggy trousers and worn T-shirt. His boots were unusual, with strange markings on the sole, but he didn't attract any attention as he stole back into Hogsmeade and back to Hogwarts.

The sun was an hour or so before setting and was, by now, giving off a bloody tinge across the sky and made the clouds look pink with it. Arasar picked up a mound of soft, fluffy snow and got to work with it as he jauntily made his way into the castle, avoiding curious looks.

He took the long way to Lupin's office, through little-passed through passageways and corridors, rubbing at the snow that had now hardened to a glistening iciness.

He pushed open the door with his foot. Lupin and Sirius were still talking- about the war, now, and looked up when Arasar came in.

"Catching up with the news?" Arasar inquired, setting down his snow statue.

They both stared at it. It was a stag- a stag that was so vividly realistic that it seemed to be alive. Its antlers were delicately smooth, somehow.

"I might have cheated in making it." said Arasar, pointing his wand at it and mouthing something.

"Oh." said Sirius. "It's really nice, Arasar."

"So you've finally got around to calling me that." said Arasar, watching the statue ripple, and then shiver.

"You animated it." said Lupin, sounding impressed.

"Only to some degree." said Arasar. "It'll only do small motions."

"Oh." said Sirius. "Who's it for?"

"The Professor." said Arasar. Sirius sniggered at the title. "Sirius already had his bone."

Deep hurt flitted across Sirius's face. Arasar ignored it, because he knew it was an act. Lupin knew it too, and just grinned. Sirius gave them up.

"I'm planning to check out Weed House quite soon, Professor." said Arasar. "Do you know where it is?"

"Er." said Lupin. "No. There might be something in the Potter vault, though. Instructions and other things left to you."

"I'll ask Moryth or someone, then." said Arasar lightly.

"Um." said Sirius. "I don't want to know..."

Arasar looked out of the window, at the setting sun.

"I have to be back by sunset." he said. "Let's go, Padfoot."

Sirius gave Lupin a shrug and a rueful smile, and followed Arasar through the fireplace, turning canine during the way.

Mr Weasley met them, looking doubtful.

"A package arrived for you." he said. "It's in the living room right now."

Arasar brushed of the soot, and Padfoot shook it off, seeming the same, because the soot and the color of his coat were identical.

"Yes, then." he said, walking to the living room.

Padfoot whined in some surprise. There was a neatly folded package, held together by strings. It was cloth- but silvery cloth, fine, like water made into threads and woven carefully.

"An invisibility cloak." Arasar noted, brushed the threads so they fell apart. There was a note on the top- in spidery letters, much like Arasar's own writing.

'Your father left this in my care. Use it well.'

"Dumbledore." said Arasar, smiling, as he shook out the cloak. It was a beautiful- he could see through it, but it was in folds, making it seem like the space behind it had ripples in its reality.

The dog nosed it, breathing in deeply. Arasar laughed and drew it around himself. It would help enormously in pranks.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The rest of the holidays were enjoyable, though it certainly couldn't have been called peaceful. The snow finally melted, there were more pranks, Percy was holed up in his room with his new book, and food was better then ever. Arasar spent the time lazily lounging around and pranking, being pranked and being noncommital when Ron demanded to know why Arasar had suddenly become so good at chess or when Percy burst into the room, demanding to know where the twins were the very moment.

Arasar spent the next to last day of the end of vacation searching for all his things, which had mysteriously spread out in the Burrow, so he kept finding his best quill in the bathroom or his charmed hairbrush- the one that Arasar, after two hours of patient magic, had managed to make anti-Arasar hairable, so it could actually make it lie flat for a few minutes, at most- which he found in Ginny's room, for some reason.

He told the Weasleys that he had business to attend to at Gringotts, and Mr Weasley said, in a resigned way, that he was perfectly welcome to prove more convicts innocent or manage to bankrupt Fudge as long as he didn't make trouble.

"Me?" said Arasar, looking perfectly innocent. "Trouble? You're talking to the wrong person, Mr Weasley. You must have mistaken me for Fred and George."

So with his backpack on his back and Padfoot trotting besides him, helpless to say anything without becoming human again, he jauntily Apparated to Diagon Alley.

No one noticed him as he strolled into Gringotts. A goblin planted his knobby hands on his hips and said that no dogs were allowed in the banks. Arasar gave him a disappoving look.

The goblin gave him the disappoving look right back. For a few moments they glared at each other, then the goblin turned his attention to Padfoot.

Padfoot looked beguilingly at the goblin, but stopped when the goblin licked his lips meaningfully.

"If it makes you feel better," said Arasar, rolling his eyes, "The dog is an Animagus."

The goblin's eyes went to his scar, and then back to Padfoot, narrowing.

"Hmmph." he said, grudgingly. "Yes. That's all right, then. What do you want?"

"Potter vault." said Arasar promptly.

There was another goblin coming up to them and demanding keys, and Arasar looking perfectly helpless when Dumbledore came out of a door at that moment.

It was impossible to miss him. He was wearing purple robes with yellow dahlias on them, and he clashed horribly with the solemn marble tiles on the floor. Arasar shook his head impatiently and walked up to him.

"Yes?" said Dumbledore humorously, looking at him, to Padfoot with some surprise, then amusement, and then back to Arasar.

"Do you happen to know where the key to the Potter Vault is?" said Arasar.

"You're parents left it to me, come to think of it." said Dumbledore, twinkling.

"Along with the cloak." said Arasar. "You sent it to me."

"I did." said Dumbledore. "That key... let me see."

He drew out his wand and flicked it. A key-shaped outline appeared in the air, and it became more real and gold colored.

"Advanced summoning." Arasar noted. "Invented the spell yourself, I recall."

Dumbledore merely smiled and handed the key to Arasar. Arasar took it, smiling too, in thanks.

"Oh." said Dumbledore. "By the way- I need to speak to Sirius."

Arasar shrugged and nudged Padfoot's behind with his shoe. Padfoot gave a low, reluctant rumble in his throat and trotted, unwillingly, to Dumbledore and looked at him. Dumbledore nodded cheerfully at Arasar and walked away.

Arasar shrugged again, this time to himself, and walked to a random goblin.

"I need to visit the Potter vault." he said.

"Which Potter vault?" demanded the goblin, walking forth impossibly fast. Arasar had to trot to catch up. "That's an old family. There's the ancestral vault, and there are about ten other lesser ones that belong to the Potters."

"Are there any specific ones my parents left to me?" said Arasar.

"Oh, _those_ vaults." said the goblin with distaste. "You'll have to ask Cably- Opalhead, I mean. He's the one with all the records."

He turned around, his skinny legs blurring to an even faster walk. Arasar followed, breaking into a run.

He pushed Arasar into a door and grinned, nastily, at him before he slammed the door shut.

"Bly pushes around humans." said a croaky voice. Arasar whi


	13. The Rest iv

rled around. There was an old looking goblin, surrounded in several files and looking amusedly at Arasar.

"Are you- er, Opalhead?"

If he was, Arasar mused, looking around the messy room- full of books, files, pages, and several bells on the table- he certainly was an untidy person.

"My given name is Cablyin." croaked the goblin. "What are you looking for?"

"Potter vaults." said Arasar. "One that my parents made."

"Lily and James Potter, I believe." said the goblin, standing up, sighing slightly. He crouched under his desk, and pulled out a grey and black file and started flipping through the pages in it, not bothering to stand up.

"Yes." he said at last. "One Lesser Vault- 917- left by Lilyan S. Evans Potter. You won't need a key to access. It was left to you specifically."

"Oh." said Arasar. "Yeah."

Opalhead finally stood up, with the page in his wrinkled hands. Looking at it again for a moment, he tapped the second largest bell on the table. It gave a clear, penetrating sound.

In a few moments, Arasar heard the pitter-patter of goblin feet on the marble tiles of Gringotts again. Another goblin stood in the doorway and looked disbelievingly at Arasar.

"Errand goblin?" said Opalhead.

"That's me." said the goblin, still glaring at Arasar. "Moryth, remember?" he added when Arasar looked at him, trying to remember who he was.

"Oh, the one that didn't like me." said Arasar, slightly chidingly. "Yes."

"Vault 917, Moryth." said Opalhead.

"Right." said Moryth and sullenly beckoned at Arasar.

"Don't mind him." said Opalhead in a very carrying whisper. "He's young and rude."

Moryth just muttered something. Arasar walked toward him, towering over him.

"Senile old records keeper." said Moryth sulkily as he padded away to another corridor.

"He's nice." said Arasar without thinking. "Aren't we going to take the boat again?" he added, to make conversation. Moryth just sent him another nasty look. Goblin's looks were all nasty, though, so Arasar couldn't tell what he was really thinking.

"Don't they tell you anything?" he said. "Boats are only for Vaults One through Twelve. The Elder vaults."

"Ah." said Arasar as Moryth swung open a door. He ducked in.

It was a cart, this time. It looked as unreliable as the boat. The rails it ran on looked equally unreliable, and Arasar looked at it with a dismayed look. Moryth just grinned and jumped on it, barely making it creak. Arasar reluctantly stepped in.

Then it set off so fast that Arasar's gasp of surprise- and alam- was lost in the rushing air. Rocky walls slid by, and details couldn't be seen for the speed. Arasar settled for half closing his eyes against the air that poked at his eyes, and grasping the seat in front of him in a steely grip.

It was over, though, in only a minute. Moryth calmly- as if he did this everyday (Arasar supposed he did)- leapt off from the cart and looked jeeringly at Arasar, who dismounted more slowly, to disguise the trembling in his legs that was more of a result of body reaction than fear.

"Newbie." grunted Moryth. Arasar then noticed the vault- a small, round metal thing with a pointed top that was only about as big as a refrigerator.

"That's the vault." said Moryth.

Arasar raised his eyebrows and walked over the the vault and hovered in front of his uncertainly. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked.

Moryth was sitting, his bony, thin legs spread out in two parellel lines. "I don't know." he said. "It's your vault. You should know."

Arasar wearily rubbed his eyes and thought about it. It had to be simple. His mother surely hadn't thought he was a genius.

He settled for trying to open the vault with the simplest thing. Touching it.

The thing hummed as his fingers made trembling contact with it. Then, like it was made of papery layers, like an onion, the first layers of metal spread down, revealing another layer of lighter metal spreading down, too. It kept doing this, as Arasar looked at it expectantly and impatiently.

After all the layers folded down, there was nothing left of the box except layer after thin, finely hammered metal layer on the ground, looking like a flower with lots of petals. In fact, that was what it must have been. It looked exactly like a lily in bloom. There was a space of clear ground right in the exact center, so Arasar walked over there and stood, uncertainly.

Then everything changed around him. Moryth went swimming out of reality, and a table replaced him. The layers became a pentacle, and the place were the rickety old cart had been was wall.

It was just a plain room. There was a table to the right, with a plain chair, and a photograph on the table. Arasar walked over to it and flipped it over.

His eyes caught the person in the right, who looked just like him. Exactly like him. His eyes were hazel, though, and full of laughter. His father, Arasar supposed. His father, who had known him as Harry Potter. Is was like looking into another life, where he was Harry.

He WAS Harry, Arasar thought. He and Harry Potter were the same. He just didn't think it that way. It was queer- like seeing another whole set of possiblities, like seeing a life where he had ordinary magic and blood family.

To the left was a woman, who was smiling, but looked much more serious. His straight red hair was flicked over her shoulder, and her green eyes stared straight at Arasar. She was holding a bundle- him, Arasar thought. There was a tuft of black, untidy hair sticking out. He felt himself smile slightly. He had been so small.

He felt himself concentrate again on his mother. Her red hair was a brownish red, though it was still red. It was a dark red than Ron or Ginny, straight and glinting, like she had combed it severely only minutes ago. Her face, like many redhaired people's faces, was pale, with a slim chin. It was, Arasar realized, just like his Aunt Petunia's, only it looked much better on his mother. He had inherited that chin, too, only the stubborn tilt of it was from his father.

Looking at it with renewed interest, he noted that though his face was very much like his father's, there were some things from his mother. He could tell the sarcastic eyebrow-raising skill was from his mother. He could tell by the humorous arch it was making now. The high hairline was from his mother, but people didn't notice it on him because he had a long fringe that obscured most of the higher part of his face.

He set the picture down and, on second thought, put it in his pocket. He turned around and surveyed the room again, looking for something that might be useful.

There was a couch, and a small bed in the corner. There was a page of parchment on the bed, and another, larger picture of his parents, himself, Sirius, whose face was brighter, and full of life. There was Professor Lupin, no gray in his hair yet, with a slight, firm smile on his face. His hair was long and light brown, though it looked almost golden in the picture. Most probably Pettigrew had taken the picture, since he wasn't there.

Arasar turned away from that. There was nothing interesting here, except the paper on the bed. Arasar walked over there and sat down, prepared to read.

He settled himself comfortably before looking at the beginning. His eyebrows rose, and he smiled ruefully. It was a letter to him.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Duz diss kyaunt az ay kliphee?

Oh, and please review and tell me what pairing you would like.

Chapter 22: For Lack of a Title

Disclaimer:

TN punched the keyboard in furious frustration and let out several unladylike curses. There it was, that ing message again.

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Please Login.

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She tapped away at the keyboard angrily. Again, she clicked the 'Documents' file. Surely now she would be allowed access...?

You must belogged in to access to this page.

Please...

TN let out a fearsome howl that sounded more like the dying cry of a wounded animal that had a spearhead and six arrows in it than a young, penniless writer.

"I can't believe this!" she cried out dramatically. "My career is RUINED! Sure JKR never suffered like this..."

She huffed and resisted the fierce urge to kick the computer, hurl the mouse out of the window and crack the keyboard in half.

(AN. Now you know of my sufferings. I am writing at my mother's church friend's friend's son's computer which has a faulty space bar. Bad luck dogs me, misfortune shadows me and I am constantly tailed by ill fortune...)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Dear Harry, I write this after Dumbledore told us about the Prophecy. By 'us' I mean me, James, Frank and Alice. It's either Neville or you, he says, and I'm very worried, to be frank.  
If you are here, it means that you have been chosen and that I am dead. Perhaps James is too. If you are reading this particular letter, it means that we died without knowing you, because I've made up my mind to update this letter every six months.  
This room is my bedroom in Weed House. It can be located in Bristol. The particulars are on the bottom of the letter. It's an isolated cottage, as you'll see if you go downstairs.  
I'd like to say a great deal more to you, but I'll end it here.  
From  
Lily

On the bottom of the paper, there was an address, but Arasar didn't read that yet. He just held the piece of paper and looked at the wall opposite, blinking. He folded the letter neatly and put it in his pocket with the photograph.

"Come on." he said to himself. "Downstairs? Where's the door, then?- oh."

At that moment, an outline of a door appeared on the wall. Arasar walked over to it and pushed, gingerly. It swung aside, revealing stairs.

Arasar descended, thinking judiciously that Moryth would have to wait a good deal. The place was clean, despite having being unpopulated for- Arasar did the math in his head- twelve years. Perhaps the place was charmed to be like that. He flicked at a switch as he turned a corner and jumped down the last few steps.

It was a living room, and Arasar could see what his mother had meant by 'isolated'. The walls were transparent, and all around there were trees. One window gave him a few of a village below.

Weed House was on a mountain.

He surveyed the view and pushed open another door that led to a guest room. There was a small nursery on the other side of another door, and then a bathroom. Then appeared another guest room.

"What's with all the invisible lodgers?" murmured Arasar. But this suited his plans, since he planned to have Sirius over while he was staying here for the summer vacation. He wanted to learn how to be an Animagus.

He nodded to himself after seeing all of the house (and yet another guest room), he opened the door that led to a garden outside.

There were lilies everywhere. There was a small pond full of them. There were lilies in the grass, and a few other flowers for variety. It was a nice place, Arasar thought. As long as Sirius didn't dig it up.

Laughing slightly at the thought, Arasar apparated to his usual place, a spot just outside Hogwarts grounds, where the Anti-Apparation wards didn't reach. Whistling to himself, he walked leisurely to Hogwarts. The sun was almost setting by the time.

As it turned out, he was thirty minutes ahead of the train. All the teachers were sitting in the Head Table, talking, when he arrived. Padfoot was below the table, a black blot in the shadows, his tail thumping once in a while, besides Dumbledore's feet.

He sped out like a bullet when he saw Arasar and barked at him. The teachers, who hadn't noticed the dog, looked surprised and then displeased.

"Are dogs allowed as pets, Professor?" said Arasar to McGonagall.

"Certainly not!" said Snape quickly. "Have you any idea how many cats are in this castle? Have you any notion of how much havoc that creature will wreak? Do you think that a dog will-"

"Severus!" said Dumbledore reprimandingly. "That dog is well trained."

The dog looked angelically at everyone except Snape, who glowered.

"Breaking the rules, as usual." he said. "Once a Potter, always a Potter."

"You heard me, Severus." said Dumbledore.

"Do you see fit to let the boy break the rules, just because he is a famous celebrity brat?" said Snape, narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore.

Arasar saw pure, poisonous hate from Snape, directed at him. He nearly shivered. Snape hated him. Really hated him. It was disconcerting to have so much hate directed at you.

Lupin, who had been staring at Padfoot, and then Snape, bristled slightly. He would have said something nasty, and chances were high that it would have turned into a real fight if the students hadn't arrived at that moment.

McGonagall rose up sharply, marching to Fred and George Weasley to make sure beforehand that they couldn't ruin anything. Lupin and Snape broke gazes, looking slightly ashamed of theirselves. Arasar smoothly took his seat besides Neville. Padfoot followed him, whining entreatingly to show his hunger.

"As for you," said Arasar. "You behave yourself or Snape is going to have your smelly hide."

Lupin caught him and Padfoot after dinner.

"Why did you bring him along, Arasar?" he said. "It's quite a risk, you know. Wormtail is bound to have told Voldemort about your Animagus form, and the Slytherins are probably going to make trouble for you."

"More like 'guaranteed', Professor." said Arasar. "As for Padfoot, he'll be fine. He has his teeth."

"Very sharp." agreed Lupin. "And smelly. I know he can kill with just the stench of his mouth." Padfoot made a rumbling sound in his throat, and Lupin's mouth twitched, like he was about to smile. "But if you're going to keep him about, Arasar," he said. "You'd better make sure nothing happens to him. Has Dumbledore said anything to you about it?"

"Dumbledore," said Arasar in a tone that gave Lupin no space for argument, "trusts me enough to keep a dog safe."

"That's another thing." said Lupin. "It's just that I think Dumbledore is letting you do too much on your own-" he hastily raised a placating hand at Arasar's glower. "I mean, I know you have strong magic and plenty of knowledge, but you need protection all the same, lots of it. I'm not criticizing the Headmaster or anything, but I think you need to be more careful."

"Dumbledore lets me get around on my own for a reason, Professor." said Arasar, a note of finality in his voice. "I'm not a stupid person. I know that a lot of people are out there who want to kill me. It's my problem. I can deal with it."

Lupin didn't look very convinced. Arasar could tell he was going to talk with Dumbledore about this.

"Yes, then." he said. "Take care, Arasar."

Arasar nodded and went back to the Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione Granger met him outside the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Er, thanks for the books." she said embarrassedly. "They were nice."

"I imagine you don't usually go for fiction." said Arasar dryly. "I thought you might want a change of reading material."

"The password is 'A Hundred and One ways to succeed'." said Hermione. Arasar winced.

"Let me guess." he said as they clambered through the hole. "The Head Boy makes up the passwords."

"Well." said Hermione. "Yes."

"Oh." said Arasar, making a face. The password had been the title of the book he had given Percy. "A bit long this time, isn't it?"

"More like a pass-sentence." agreed Hermione, and they parted, Hermione to the girl's dormitory, Arasar to the boy's.

"Quidditch starts again next month." complained Ron. "It usually starts next week, but nooo. New precautions, new wards, safety- blah blah blah."

Arasar hadn't attended to Dumbledore's speech at the feast, just shrugged as if he knew too.

"And," said Ron, eyeing Arasar. "Wood reckons that the Gryffindor Seeker isn't up to it. He's holding a new tryout."

"I fail to see," said Arasar, putting as much sarcasm as possible into his voice, "Why I should be concerned by that."

"Oh, come _on_, Arasar!" said Ron, springing up. Padfoot looked at him beseechingly too.

"Teamed up against me, I see." said Arasar resignedly. Padfoot let out a bark of laughter- or perhaps it was a laughing bark- that clearly told Arasar that he agreed.

"House pride is at stake!" said Ron, making a hideous face in an attempt to imitate Professor McGonagall.

Arasar rolled his eyes and yawned, burying his head in his pillow. "I'll try." he said sleepily. He was too tired to unpack his trunk. When he did, maybe he would sneak around the castle in his cloak... Play a prank on Peeves for once, without it being the other way around. Yes, it would come in handy...

He fell asleep.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

He woke up in a sour mood the next day. He totally regretted saying that he'd play Quidditch- unless he intentionally failed on the tryouts, of course. With a sinking heart, he realized there was no other way he could get out of it. He had a better broom, and better skills. He couldn't get out of it unless he cheated- not in the usual way.

The result was that he brooded the entire morning and picked at his food. He finally managed to down a cup of apple juice, because he couldn't abide orange that morning- it tasted too sour- and managed to somehow, without the aid of magic, make his eggs into fine mush. He was absorbed it spearing and dividing the remaining crumbs when Ron tapped his shoulder, looking revolted.

"You're wasting food!" he said as soon as he managed to swallow whatever was in his mouth. "And eggs are fantastic- how can you-"

"Shut up, Ron." said Arasar, vanishing the eggs and getting up, reluctantly getting ready for Potions. "Haven't you ever heard of 'no appetite'? No, I can see you never have."

Ron groaned at the prospect of Potions and hefted his own bag onto his shoulder and grimaced at Arasar.

"Have you seen my Potions book?" said Neville at that moment, rushing up to Arasar. "I could swear it was in my bag a few minutes ago!"

"Have you looked at the floor?" asked Arasar.

"Crawled on it." said Neville earnestly. "And it isn't anywhere!"

Arasar looked unobtrusively at the Slytherin table, and looked at Draco Malfoy grinning across the table, jubilantly fingering a Potions book.

"Ah." said Arasar. "Perhaps the book that Master Malfoy is handling belongs to you, perhaps?"

Neville looked across too, face falling. "Oh." he said. "Should have thought of that."

"But are you sure it's yours?" pressed Arasar.

"Yes." said Neville. "I know it is. There's that scratch in the spine and the rip in the cover."

"Blast." said Arasar under his breath. "Let's go to Potions, then."

"But what about my book?" said Neville.

"We can catch him before he goes in." said Arasar.

The three of them went down to the dungeons. Halfway down, Neville asked nervously if they were sure that they could get it back.

"Yes." said Arasar, cracking a smile. "If it doesn't work, I can always beat him up."

"Mate, Malfoy is good at fighting." said Ron. "I know you're good too and all that, but purebloods- I mean," he said hastily as Neville and Arasar looked around at him, glaring, "Dark purebloods always train their kids early on. Training for You-know-who, I reckon."

"Whatever." said Arasar. "I don't care."

There was another silence, until a loud laugh- Pansy Parkinson's voice, Arasar thought- alerted them to the fact that the Slytherins were approaching.

Arasar frowned as he saw Draco Malfoy approaching, a smirk appearing on his face as he saw Arasar leaning against the wall besides the Potions door, eyeing him coldly.

"Neville's Potions book, if you will, Master Malfoy." said Arasar.

"Who says I've got it?" said Malfoy, smirk growing even wider as he spread his arms in what could have been mistaken for a magnanomous gesture if all of them hadn't known better. "Me, Draco Malfoy?"

"You." agreed Arasar. "Give it back."

"Typical Gryffindor comment." said Malfoy with disgust. "'Give it back'. No subtlety at all. For someone who claims to have learned and inherited from the great Salazar Slytherin, you seem very Gryffindor and stupid, like the rest of the lot."

"If you're talking about Azar," said Arasar slowly, drawing himself up and taking a step toward Malfoy. "You're sadly mistaken about his personality."

Moving like a cobra, he moved forward so quickly- aided by his enchanted boots- that Malfoy hadn't time to do anything except raise his hands and stumble back. Arasar's hand moved toward Malfoy's bag, but Malfoy, with agility that startled Arasar, rolled over and punched him hard.

Arasar was surprised by the move. Malfoy didn't seem at all strong, with his delicate, pale face and flimsy looking arms. He rolled over a few times to recover and stood up, expelling a hacking cough. Malfoy had been trained. Trained well. He knew exactly where to hit him. In the stomach, slightly left. It hurt. Really hurt.

Arasar could have used magic then, but he was too angry. Magic never came to him well if it was furious. Instead, he started toward Malfoy, who was looking confident and obnoxious, and surprised him by suddenly leaping and catching him in the gut with a well-aimed kick.

Though Malfoy hadn't had time to prepare to block him, he had doubled up slightly so the impact was less. He didn't fall down, like Arasar had intended, but just sneered at him- though his face had more color in it and he was panting- and just moved back, regaining his breath.

So Malfoy isn't going to use magic either, Arasar thought. He knows he can't beat me in that. So he's expecting me to keep the unsaid rules and fight without it. Malfoy's lackeys weren't moving either, but just looking at them. So was Ron and Neville. Thought both of them looked reluctant to not aid him, they weren't moving.

"Some stupid pureblood special duel, eh?" said Arasar under his breath. He was going to say something heavily sarcastic after that, but Malfoy sped toward him and punched him again, one thin, delicate looking leg bending behind Arasar's feet and tripping him neatly. Arasar's left hand blocked the punch, equally neatly, and one knee bent and pushed Malfoy off. Before he fell down onto the ground again, the other leg slammed down on the ground and Arasar swayed slightly, leg hurting, and then he stood up again. He'd have a limp later, but that was fine.

He expected Malfoy to stand back again and get his breath back, but Malfoy surprised him by ramming into him, shoulder-first. One of Malfoy's pale, spidery looking hands- hands that looked like they were only used to write with a specially soft quill and stroke soft, clean cats- balled into a fist and headed toward his face.

Arasar turned his face to the left and held his hand in front of the fist to stop it. Arasar's other hand went snaking into Malfoy's bag, and he pulled out a Potions book. Neville's Potions book. He flung it to once side and concentrated on holding his blocking hand right. He was planning to catch it and flip Malfoy and kick him, but his aim was off, and he caught Malfoy's sleeve instead of his fist.

And the sleeve pulled back with a slight ripping sound, revealing a tattoo.

A tattoo of a skull, with a snake coming out of its mouth, thin, deadly looking tongue flicking this way and that. A magical tattoo, obviously.

The Dark Mark.

Malfoy jumped back, shaking his arm so the sleeve fell down again. Arasar was staring at him, aghast. They just stared at each other. Malfoy was white, and he was biting his lower lip so hard that it had lost all of its pale color. Arasar was appalled. Although he knew that most of the Slytherins- if not all of them- were in Voldemort's service, he had thought that only the older students were marked. Malfoy was thirteen, and he was marked. It was- horrible. It was like being enslaved at an early age. Malfoy might think at first it was glorious business, but he'd change his mind.

Neville stepped forward and picked up the book. By the expressions on both Ron and Neville's faces, they hadn't seen the tattoo. He was wondering what to do when there was a bellow from the sidelines.

"MALFOY! POTTER!"

McGonagall strode toward them, pushing apart two Slytherins, face white with anger. "Fighting in the corridors! In front of a classroom! And you both are BLEEDING."

Arasar hadn't been aware that they were. His own face, come to think of it, was wet. He touched it gingerly and found his entire left cheek was wet with blood. Malfoy's right sleeve was red. Arasar wondered how that had happened.

"What now, Minerva?" said Dumbledore, appearing suddenly. He was wearing bright blue robes with pink sunflowers printed all over them. Arasar let out a breath between his teeth to stop himself from laughing at the flamboyant costume.

"Malfoy and Potter," said McGonagall with deceptive calm, "Were fighting. Look at the _state_ of them!"

"They indeed look... Ah, disarranged." agreed Dumbledore. He took one look at Arasar's face and figured out this was more than it seemed to be. Arasar's face was pale, and there was a frankly worried expression in his eyes. "Come along to my office, boys."

Arasar shrugged and arranged his face into a bland mask and followed Dumbledore. Malfoy, his face the color of new parchment, followed.

Malfoy was obviously wondering about escaping. Various emotions flitted across his face as his fists clenched and unclenched, and he shivered slightly as he followed them. He knew that Arasar knew that anyone who had the Dark Mark were sent to Azkaban without a trial. He knew Arasar knew he had one.

They reached Dumbledore's office quite soon. Dumbledore gave the ridiculous gargoyle standing guard in front of the door the name of a sweet and they went in. Dumbledore seated himself behind his desk, and Arasar and Malfoy both looked at the one chair opposite to Dumbledore, looked at each other, and remained standing.

"Now," said Dumbledore, eyes going to Arasar, then Malfoy and back to Arasar. "What's this all about?"

Arasar made up his mind in that one moment. Shrugging nonachalantly, he gave Dumbledore an innocent smile.

"Nothing, sir." he said. "Malfoy and I had a slight disagreement, sir, regarding one of our friend's honor."

"And you resorted to petty violence to resolve it?" said Dumbledore, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir." said Arasar, smiling apologetically. "Apparently, it is the only thing that dumb Gryffindors understand."

"Did you say that, Mister Malfoy?" said Dumbledore, eyes going to Malfoy again.

"No, sir." said Arasar before Malfoy could say anything stupid. "It is just something I assumed that he thought."

"Anything contradictory to Arasar's version of the fight, Mister Malfoy?" said Dumbledore sharply.

Malfoy, Arasar was grateful to see, had the presence of mind to just numbly shake his head.

"Very well, then." said Dumbledore. "Thirty points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Off you go now."

"Why did you _do_ that?" muttered Malfoy to Arasar as they headed down again to the dungeons. "You saw it. I know you did."

"I did." said Arasar. "I just didn't think that you going to Azkaban wasn't right. For all I know, it could have been a mistake you made- or something that you were supposed to do from the very moment you were born."

Malfoy looked at Arasar oddly.

"Joining Voldemort, I mean." said Arasar, ignoring Malfoy's flinch at the name.

"I know that." said Malfoy. It sounded like he was restraining himself from adding 'you fool' to the end. "Er. Thanks."

Arasar nodded in acknowledgement and they both went into the classroom.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Okay.

How did you like it? Tell! Critism and advice is always welcome. Praise even more so. Hehe.

AN1. I suppose most of you were expecting a long letter full of information and 'I love you's' from Lily. I was planning that, and I wrote it and decided it was too sentimental and mushy and stupid, so I cut out all the idiotic parts and I was left with that short letter. Hmm. Sorry about that...

Chapter 23: Quidditch Again

Chapter 23. Quidditch. Again.

AN. Many of you complained about Arasar letting Malfoy off. My answer is that I have a reason. Remember what I said about how I decided when and how exactly DM becomes important to the story?

Also, my idea is that Malfoy, as a pureblood, was trained before he came to Hogwarts by his father. I mean, it's logical, right? If you were a pureblood bigot, you would want to teach your son so that he could do well in Hogwarts and strut and say that he's a natural because of his so called 'pure' ancestry. So (naturally?) he was also trained in physical fighting...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"Parry, Arasar!" yelled Row sharply. "Parry!"

Arasar brought put his sword up weakly in time to block a violent swing from Row's long wooden staff, and they clashed, and sparks flew everywhere. Row jumped back, and swung her staff upright, and held it in a defensive stance again.

"I'm not used to the sword!" protested Arasar. "It's too heavy."

"It's meant to be heavy." said Row. "Remember, it's supposed to train your muscles so you'll have no trouble with a real sword when you use it."

"I know!" said Arasar, grunting with the effort as he swung the sword at Row again, using more of the heavy sword's momentum than his own strength. Row easily knocked it aside and landed a light blow to Arasar's shoulder. Arasar grunted again, this time with pain, as he stepped back and planted the sword in the ground to rest. Row shook her head and sighed, and then sat down. Arasar groaned and collapsed.

Row looked at him broodingly.

"Have you been practicing the gymnastic exercises Drick told you to do?" she said sharply. "It was meant to stop you from fainting like that."

Arasar staggered up, panting to protest that he wasn't fainting. That was such a _girly _thing to do.

"I'm not fainting!" he said.

"Fine, then." said Row, standing up quickly, so quickly that Arasar was unprepared for the quick jab at his ribs that came. He jumped back, gripping his sword.

"Switch hands!" said Row.

Arasar transferred the sword to his left hand, shaking his red right one and rotating it so it wouldn't be stiff, and the muscles useless. He parried swiftly this time, and blocked the next blow as well, but the third blow caught him on the side of his head and he rolled down the hill three times resignedly. He got up again and glowered at Row.

"Gah!" he said and plunged up at her, making a slow, inexpert slashing movement at her.

Unfortunately for him, attacking from downhill to uphill was slow, and Row easily knocked away his sword with one of her practiced jabs. Another jab caught him lightly below his chin, and he jumped back again so it wouldn't harm him much. His right foot caught on something, and he tumbled down the hill again. He looked at the brilliantly high and blue autumn sky and glowered at it, not bothering to get up and lose. Again.

He fingered his sword, and its blunt edges, designed not to harm anyone. It's inside wasn't hollow, for it was a yansef sword, a sword that hadn't hollow insides, like all sophisticated sword did so the wielder could swing it lightly and easily. It was meant to train with. And Arasar hated it.

Row's face appeared suddenly in his range of vision, obscuring his view of the cloudless sky. He hadn't heard her coming. She had been trained too well to be silent, even when walking on dry grass that crackled even under the lightest touch.

"Are you all right?" she said. She said it without concern, because she knew the only thing hurt was Arasar's pride.

"Fine." said Arasar sulkily. "As you can see."

"I think you've practiced enough, then." said Row, taking in his sweat-soaked tunic and his disheveled hair, which was slicked with sweat and was actually almost tidier than usual. His grumpy face as well. "Let's go back."

"Go swimming?" said Arasar hopefully. Row laughed.

"Yes, and swimming." she said.

They headed back to Hogwarts, passing some cows on the way, and hearing some chicken squawking in the distance, behind Hogwarts.

Arasar ran to the sparkling lake as soon as it came into sight, letting out a yell of joy as he plunged into it. When he resurfaced, there was a wide grin on his face. His sword had been thrown aside and it glinted in the grass, forgotten.

"I love the water." he said before he dived again.

"I know you do." remarked Row to the rippling water where Arasar had been a second ago. "Anyone can see that."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar wondered where all the water had gone. He had been swimming, hadn't he? And why was he on an unfamiliar bed? Where was Row- and why was it so dark?

A thousand years...

Arasar sighed at the thought, dejectedly. Yansef swords. Learning how to fight from Row. Gymnastics from Drick. Had this been a dream or a memory? All long ago. Ten centuries ago. Ten centuries...

He turned around to cool his face on the other side of the pillow and shuffled and bent his legs slightly. Padfoot warmed his feet with his heavy, black weight. Sneaky thing. He'd told him a thousand times that he was not to sleep on the bed. He'd offered Padfoot a chance to go live in Weed House alone for the term, but of course Padfoot had refused. And he was sprinkling black hairs on Arasar's bed.

But Arasar was too tired to kick Padfoot off the bed, so he just wriggled his feet. He rolled over again and stared at the darkness, presumably where the ceiling was. He stretched his arms out toward it, but he couldn't see anything. The windows were closed and shuttered, and no light, not even a dim ray, penetrated it. It was entirely dark.

Arasar closed his eyes and sighed again. He was about to fall asleep again when his magical alarm clock- he'd have to buy a real one soon, but he was just too lazy- beeped.

"At least I didn't have to wake up the usual way." muttered Arasar irritably as it began flashing red and blue. Padfoot grunted in his sleep as Arasar slid his feet out from under him and punched the alarm hard to turn it off. Pulling on his clothes, he went outside at six in the morning to jog.

Since he had woken before the alarm, he wasn't that sleepy. He was able to appreciate the dim redness around the black outline of the distant mountains. In midday or around, the light was too bright, and his eyes were sensitive.

His jog slowed to a walk as he completed his rounds. Usually he'd stagger back into bed for another hour of sleep, but he was too awake to do that now. Instead he chose a spot beneath a tree and sat on it, stretching, after hitting it with a blast of insect-repelling magic.

He grinned at the bare branches above him. Life was pretty good, though he had a Dark Lord to kill. Even with the prospect with that highly unpleasant task in front of him, he thought that it would be fine. How could it not? It was so calm around him. It was hard to believe it wasn't the same outside Hogwarts.

That good mood drained away when he went back to the Gryffindor Tower to hear that the Seeker tryouts were being held again the next day.

"Oh, blast!" he cried in annoyance when he saw the announcements. He had promised, though he had been half awake when he had done so and he'd only said it to get some peace.

'Never say anything you'll regret later.' echoed Row's voice in his mind.

"Oh, shut up!" Arasar said, gaining some odd looks. Who was the boy talking to himself- oh, it was Potter. Didn't recognize him with that short hair.

Arasar was in a sour mood for the rest of the day. He would rather face Quidditch than Voldemort- oh, anytime!- but still!

He supposed he could fly badly on purpose.

Arasar considered that. He could do it. Act, of course, as if he were trying his best. With a worried look on his face- a desperate frown would be a good touch, with his right foot sneakily pressing on the brake while he leaned forward, looking as if he were trying to catch the Snitch with all his might. That would work.

He busily worked out the finer details in his mind. A swift swipe at the golden blur that was the Snitch- deliberately misaimed, of course, and then perhaps a crazy out of control turn in the air. And a dramatic ending, of course, with a disappointed look on his face and a helpless shrug, and apologetic glance at Padfoot and the other Gryffindors. Yes, that would definitely work.

For some reason, he didn't talk to Ron, Dean, or Seamus that day. The only times he saw them were when he caught glimpses of them talking hurriedly to other Gryffindors. Once, after lunch, Arasar tried to go after Seamus to find out what the heck they were doing?- but Seamus, upon seeing him, gave him a quick grin and went to talk to another Gryffindor sixth year named Alex Redfield.

Likewise, Dean and Ron both hastily sped out of the way when they saw him coming. Irritably wondering what conspiracy THIS was, Arasar grumpily got through Herbology and Charms and went to his dorm to finish reading 'Abhorsen' and then maybe get some peace.

It didn't quite work that way. Arasar was faced by the Transfiguration Essay and the diagram of the northern sky, and a careful picture of a flobberworm's intestines AND a Charms quiz to study for. He resignedly had to work carefully for two hours and then he spent another hour carefully memorizing his Charms notes. Dumbledore was good at Charms, but his knowledge was vague about a few things- he had studied Charms a hundred and thirty years or so before, after all, and what he knew about the subject was a bit out of date.

He had just enough time to finish 'Abhorsen' and get enough sleep before waking up to jog around the castle again. Then he nearly got an hour of more sleep, but Dean jumped on his bed.

"Tryouts on nine o clock!" he said cheerfully. "Up!"

"It's only seven or so." said Arasar sleepily. "Go away."

"Eight, actually." said Dean. "Enough time to eat breakfast and get ready."

Arasar muttered something rude about hyper idiots and stumbled out of bed, trying to sort out the tangles in his hair. After relucantly pulling on his jeans and putting on his robe inside-out, he splashed some water on his face, realized what was wrong with his clothes and sorted out the state of his robes before going down to eat something.

After inhaling three pieces of crisp toast, five pieces of bacon (they were small, though, so it was excusable), two eggs, a glass of orange juice, he jauntily picked up an apple and munched on it as he fetched his broom and confidently went outside.

Wood was waiting for him, grinning wickedly.

"Ready for the tryouts, Potter?" he said.

Arasar didn't bother to correct Wood. Everyone called him 'Potter' or 'Harry' or 'Harry Potter'. If it wasn't the long and formal 'Harry James Potter', that was. It was time he got used to it.

"Pretty much." he said. "Where are the others?"

"They'll be around." said Wood vaguely, gesturing at Arasar to mount his broom. "Ready? I'm letting go of the Snitch."

Arasar spent five glorious minutes in the air doing pointless swerves and desperate, inexpert looking dives, veering blunt angles and occasionally looking like the broom was too much for him. After five minutes of acting, he finally pretended to see the Snitch and glided at it, weaving about in the air theatrically and catching it with a jerky, unelegant movement. He clumsily dismounted from the broom and tried not to grin.

"How did I do?"

"Excellent!" said Wood, grinning broadly. "Congratulations. You're on the team!"

"_What_?" said Arasar, staring at Wood in disbelief. "But I'm really bad at flying!"

"No you aren't." said Wood, smirking. "I saw you, and you're excellent. Back to the dorm."

Arasar followed Wood, trying to make sense of the stupid events that had happened. As soon as he was in the Common Room, he ignored everyone who tried to congratulate him- somehow, they knew that he'd made it onto the team, though Arasar hadn't seen even one of them coming to watch him- and made a beeline for Dean, Seamus and Padfoot and Ron.

They looked a tad guilty when they saw him. Arasar drew himself up, like he had watched Mrs Weasley do a thousand times in the Burrow, and radiated cold fury and towered over them.

"What," he said, still imitating Mrs Weasley's deadly voice before she exploded, "Did you do?"

Ron and Padfoot didn't miss the resemblance and both winced.

"Er." said Seamus. "We... spread word to everyone who was going to try out for the Seeker position not to do it."

"Is that so?" said Arasar, drawing in breath to shout. Then he thought better of it. Instead he just expelled the air in one angry sigh. "Did it make you happy?"

"Well, you _are_ the best one for the position, you know." said Ron. Padfoot made the rumbling sound in his throat in agreement. Arasar closed his eyes and sighed again.

"When's the next match?"

"Eh?"

Arasar gritted his teeth.

"When is the next Quidditch match between Gryffindor and another House?"

They looked at each other quizzically.

"Um." said Dean. "Next Saturday."

"Thank you." said Arasar.

He walked slowly to the dormitory and sighed.

His plan was ruined. He had spent so much time working on it and spinning out the details. He had thought it was a magnificent, foolproof plan, but it seemed that his fellow roommates knew him to well. They'd actually anticipated it. He fumed.

He saw the Invisibility Cloak draped casually on the back of the chair, making it look like an unusual looking stool. He smiled and picked it up. It was transparent, and the view of his room through it looked like it had ripples in reality where the Cloak was creased. When held sideways, it looked almost opaque, silvery, like dim moonlight. It felt and looked like water woven into cloth. It felt smoother and more closely woven than the finest silk, and a great deal more expensive and magical. He flung it over himself and was rewarded by the sight of an empty room in the mirror.

Suddenly he felt light. He could go anywhere in this cloak and not be noticed. No staring, no pointing. He was almost free.

And he didn't have any homework.

A grin spread over his face and threatened to split his face into two joyous halves. Bounding up, energy renewed, he carefully gathered the Cloak about himself so not a single inch of his form showed between a crack of his un-cloaked armour. Making sure the Cloak trailed appropriatetly on the floor, enough to hide his boots but not enough to get dirty, he went outside the Gryffindor Tower and decided to walk around the castle.

He already knew almost every inch of it, of course, but he still took pleasure in walking about in the castle and exploring the rooms and corridors he hadn't been in or gone through before. Consequentially, he discovered two more secret passageways he could use to get to classes earlier. Which he didn't plan to do, of course.

He was caught by Moody, though, when he finally made his mind up to go back to the Gryffindor Tower. Moody's eye immediately spotted him out and Moody started for Arasar, eyes glinting.

"Out after curfew?" he growled.

Arasar pretended not to hear and concentrated on sneaking past Moody soundlessly. Moody grinned, letting out a hoarse cackle of sly laughter.

"My eye can see through that flimsy disguise of yours, Potter." he said. "Take it off."

Arasar relucatantly let it slither down himself, like a sleek snake.

"Good workmanship, that." said Moody approvingly. "Not a stitch out of place, eh? See you're wearing those charmed boots of yours, boy. Didn't I tell you they were bad for you? You need to train in ordinary- or weighted shoes first."

"I wanted to get around, sir." said Arasar.

"Not after curfew, then." said Moody reprovingly. "Off you go. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

Arasar sped away.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"So." said Voldemort thoughtfully, tapping his snow-pale chin with one inhumanly long, thin finger. "So..."

Draco Malfoy looked visibly nervous. Indag Aldosov even more so.

"Quidditch." said Voldemort. "Harry Potter, the new Gryffindor Seeker..."

Draco Malfoy expelled a careful sigh. It was prudent not to make loud noises in front of the Dark Lord. Even breathing had to be slow and silent. A gasp or a sigh was seen- especially a sigh- as rudeness.

And rudeness was punished.

"Malfoy." said Voldemort suddenly. "Did you not say that Potter's broom was transfigured?"

_My moment of glory _, thought Draco before pasting a servile smile on his face. He bowed and kept his eyes trained on the ground as he said-

"Yes, milord. Potter transfigured an inkpot into a broomstick a few months ago, milord."

"Hmmm." said Voldemort. "Indag?"

"Yes, milord?"

Indag Aldosov was a seventh year Slytherin and heir of the Aldosov family- a high ranking Dark family, ranking among the Blacks, the Lestranges, and the Malfoys. He was the cleverest in his year and very talented, and for this reason the Dark Lord favored him. Voldemort counted on Indag Aldosov to relay to him a clear commentary of what was happening at Hogwarts.

"I believe you know of the untransfiguring charm."

Indag hid the surprise that almost surfaced onto his face. "Yes, milord."

"And you know of its effects?"

"Yes, milord. It undoes the spells, enchantments, illusions, charms put on the object that the untransfiguration charm concentrates on."

"Very good. You know the incantation?"

"Yes, milord."

"Have you cast it before?"

"Twice, milord."

"Can you cast it correctly, without bungling it?"

"Of course, milord."

A thin bead of sweat crept down Draco's temples. Soon it would be his turn to be interrogated. And if the Dark Lord found out that Harry Potter knew of his Dark Mark- through his own fault, no less, he would be most displeased. Most probably he would assume that Potter would eventually tell Dumbledore, and then Dumbledore, knowing of the Slytherins loyalty to the Dark Lord, would perhaps expel them all. And it would be end of their many plans connected to the Slytherin spies inside.

It would also be the end of his life.

"Very well then. Malfoy!"

Draco stepped out forward again, making sure there were no creases in his robes. He bowed again.

"I heard you had an incident with Harry Potter."

Draco froze. If any of the others had seen... If any of the others knew Potter had seen... His...

"Yes, my lord."

"Do not attract attention, Malfoy. Or suffer my displeasure."

His stomach tied of it nervous knots. He bowed again and tried to stop his teeth from chattering by clenching them. The room was cold.

"I won't disappoint you, milord."

Voldemort laughed again. "Do not make rash promises."

The bead of sweat finally splashed on the floor. Voldemort noted it with a raised eyebrow.

"Keep on eye on the boy until his demise."

"Yes, my lord."

Draco didn't dare say anything. He just bowed again and backed away.

"Aldosov."

"Yes, milord?"

"On the day of the match, use the untransfiguring spell on the Potter boy's broom. Use it when he is far above the ground. The results will be... amusing."

There was a dutiful chuckle from most of the Death Eaters.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"Expecto Patronum!"

For the fourth time, the bird burst out of Arasar's wand. He watched as it sped toward the Dementor.

And for the first time, the Dementor backed off.

Ectastic, Arasar grinned broadly and punched the air in victory.

"About time!" he said to the air.

"It took you two months." said Lupin, sounding impressed.

"Not counting the holidays?" said Arasar, grinning. "Yeah. Is that short or something?"

Lupin chuckled. "It took ME five. It's a tricky spell, that."

"So... Are our lessons completed? My training at end? I am no longer coming to your office for a tiring, boring session of driving away Dementors?"

Lupin let out a snort of laughter.

"No." he said. "You'll need to come here again a few times again to make sure you really can do it."

Arasar rolled his eyes, exasperated, and left the room.

The Quidditch match was tomorrow, and Arasar was still furious about how Wood and the other Gryffindors had conspired- yes, _conspired_- against him. And he had fallen ever so neatly into their trap. Maddening. Absolutely maddening.

Wood had actually, quite sensibly, declared that the Team should all go to bed early so they would be sufficiently energetic for the Match. Arasar thankfully took his advice, put down his new book, (Eragon) and went to his dormitory to sleep.

To his absolute disgust, he was too excited to sleep.

He was outraged with himself. He didn't even _care _much about the stupid game. But he couldn't stop himself from thinking about all the Quidditch tactics Wood had drummed into his head, and the prospect of flying- winning- flying- victory- made his stomach twist in pleasure and anticipation. He kept thinking about soaring effortlessly, unbound from the strict laws of gravity, through the sky.

It was well past midnight when he fell asleep, his book, which he had read to try to make himself go to sleep, clutched in his hand.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AN. Can someone tell me WHAT exactly is wrong with the nicknames 'Drick, Row, and Azar'?

Chapter 24: An Evil Cliffhanger

AN: My dear Charlie, if you don't like it, you can stop reading. No one will be offended, least of all me.

AN2: Likewise for everyone else.

AN3: No, Eragon wasn't out in 1993. I was merely ignoring the laws of time. Besides, I don't know any good fantasy novels that were out then. Let's pretend it was out, shall we?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Draco Malfoy paced agitatedly. Potter was going to be killed. Potter was going to be killed. Harry Potter, Arasar Gryffindor-Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw-Slytherin was about to be killed.

He was sure that Potter could handle any expected, straightforward threats- he was a powerful wizard, Draco knew that, even though everyone was very, very reluctant to admit it.

He was clever with magic and was talented. Draco knew that Potter would sense a hostile form of magic directed at him. Any truly _decent_ wizard would.  
The Dark Lord had been clever. An untransfiguring spell wouldn't be noticed, not until the spell had hit his broom. And Harry Potter would be left clutching a bloody, powerless _inkpot_. Fat lot help it would be to him. And Harry Potter, even though he was the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Went-Back-A-Thousand-Years-And-Came-Back, couldn't fly without a broom.

Why did he care so much, anyway? Draco asked himself, hands going up to smooth his ungelled hair. Without the gel, it looked windswept and uncombed, and positively _horrible_.

But Draco was more preoccupied with the matter of _why_ exactly the thought of Potter's death upset him so much. It was a great victory for his side. The side of the Dark Lord.

Yet, why did Potter's words haunt him?

_For all I know, it could have been a mistake you made- or something that you were supposed to do from the very moment you were born. _

The most disturbing thing was that Potter was right. He had been forced to do it. He remembered a day, when he was five, when his Father had told him about the old, glorious days. He had been listening attentively, but there were still things he hadn't understood.

_But why are muggles bad, father?_ he remembered himself saying. _They're just people, aren't they? _

_Naive fool._ Draco cursed himself. He had been destined to join Him, and wipe out Muggles from the world. He had, from the moment, been taught ferociously that muggles were filth, stupid, worthless, powerless. That had been drummed into his head until he had forgotten that he had ever questioned his father.

And that day- the day he had gotten his Mark- he had been reluctant. History books portrayed the Age of the Dark Lord as an evil era, an age of slaughter and prejudice, and Draco had thought that it wasn't entirely wrong. In the back of his mind, something had always questioned- why? He had pretended to be willing, but Potter had been right. In a way, he had been forced into it.

Draco let out a breath and checked his watch. It was too late to stop it, anyway. The match would begin in two minutes- no, one. He'd better go down now.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar, despite everything, got up early as usual and was too sleepy to be nervous when he started on his usual jog around Hogwarts. Halfway around, he suddenly jerked awake and started thinking it about it. Again. Three quarters around, he broke into a frustrated run.

He was saved from a boring breakfast, in which he would brood and start to nerve himself up, only to have the nerve collapse again, when Dumbledore took him aside.

"Pettigrew." the Headmaster murmured to him. Arasar looked inquiringly at the Headmaster, and the Headmaster nodded. "Further questioning proves that Pettigrew was supposed to eliminate you at the Weasley's house on the holidays."

Arasar's blood ran cold. He didn't have any defenses around him when he slept. Especially in another house. In a house of a friend. And Ron, or Ron's family, would most certainly have been blamed if he hadn't gotten hold of Pettigrew and had given him to the Ministry. If.

"I see you see what might have happened..." Dumbledore said gravely. "Do you know how to build a ward?"

"Yes." said Arasar. "I'll work on it after the match."

Dumbledore's lined face relaxed into a smile, and the familiar twinkle started in his eyes again. He was about to say something else- perhaps advice, when they were interrupted.

"Oh, there you are, Potter." said Wood from somwhere behind him. "Weasley says that your eyes are sensitive to the light."

"Yes." said Arasar, turning around. The sensitivity was due to his shadow element, which made him twitchy and irritable in the sun. "Have you anything for it? It's a pretty nice day."

"Goggles." said Wood, handing a transparent thing to him. Arasar took it gingerly and turned it around and about. "They'll cloud when you put them on. Handle them carefully, Potter. I got them from Diggory, and they're not cheap because they've got a iris-adjusting charm on it."

"Thanks." said Arasar.

"Better go." said Wood, checking his watch. "It's starting in five minutes."

They walked to the locker room, and Arasar felt a twinge of panic jar his stomach. Quidditch. All he had to do was win. Catch a little golden thing fluttering about. No problem. He'd do it, even though the Snitch was very fast and almost impossible to see, not to mention that the other Seeker would have more experience...

He adjusted his goggles as Wood kicked opened the door and started his pep talk. Arasar felt himself turn yellow and tried not to listen. Especially when Wood went on about the other Seeker.

"Malfoy has a good broom, but Potter's is even better. Don't worry about them and let Potter do his job, and concentrate on the Quaffle- and you! Weasleys. You better not crack any more heads or you'll be in detention when we could be practicing."

There was a shrill whistle outside.

"Now." Wood whispered reverently, picked up his broom and marched outside.

Arasar winced and felt his breakfast lurch about slightly in his stomach as he stepped into the sunlight and the cheering. On one side of the stadium it was a mass of red and gold flags. On the other side there was a slightly more subdued rippling sea of green and silver. There was also a noticably gap between the two colors. The red and gold roared when they saw the Gryffindor team. Whistles, catcalls, and individual shouts that Arasar couldn't discern overwhelmed him.

"Mount your brooms!" said Madam Hooch from somewhere on his right. "On three."

Arasar swung himself effortlessly onto his broom and smiled, slightly, and his queasiness halved. This was what he was used to doing. In this, he was confident.

"One-"

He gripped his broom more tightly and adjusted his goggles. They didn't seem to be less transparent, but they filtered the light so that he could see everything without squinting or shading his eyes against the light.

"This is great." he murmured to himself.

"Two-"

He nervously lifted the goggles again and wiped at his eyes. Just a safe precaution.

"Three!"

Madam Hooch kicked at the shaking box that held the balls so that the catches sprang open all at the same time. Every shot up as a tiny golden flutter winged itself to almost-invisibility, and two of the Gryffindor Chasers dodged the black blurs. Fred, George, and the two other Slytherins, Goyle and Crabbe flew after it. Wood and the Slytherin Keeper took up their places in front of the hoops, and the Chasers rotated around the red ball, snatching, dodging, diving, swooping, throwing. Arasar took one amazed look at the chaos on the field.

It seemed much more hectic. As a spectator, he'd merely coolly, and amusedly, observed the players flying with a trace of wistfulness. It wasn't like that at all. Bludgers swooped by, threatening to knock him off his broom, and four Beaters narrowly missed him with their bats and bodies as they veered after it. Chasers dizzily flew, six blurs of rapidly turning green and red.

But he realized something else. He wasn't scared or nervous at all. All that worrying had been useless. This was where he belonged, in the sky.

The thought was enough to exilerate him and purge out the last traces of jitteriness out of him. He stood straighter, radiating only confidence, and soared.

He almost forgot what he was supposed to do. He took off on one slow, lazy glide, but no one shouted at him because he looked like he was looking for the Snitch.

Malfoy didn't seem to be having much luck either. He was mindlessly going round and round the field, occasionally looking at Arasar with and odd look on his face. Arasar dismissed it and looked around and about, keeping low to the ground as he looked for the Snitch.

"BELL SCORES! TEN TO TWENTY, SLYTHERIN IN LEAD!"

Arasar looked at his left, to the blank, cloudless part of the sky. Normally his eyes would have hurt badly, and he would have had to look away, but he was able to look at the sky now with the goggles. He veered to the left and looked behind him.

There was a momentary flash of gold.

Without even thinking about it, Arasar pointed the handle of his broom upwards and zoomed toward it. His hair was whipped back, and the wind beat as his face, but Arasar could see- see it, now, the little golden ball, zooming this way and that without any visible effort. It was, Arasar knew, due to the amazing flexibility of the wing-rotation thingy, but he pushed away that piece of information and concentrated on getting to the Snitch before Malfoy.

He never got the chance.

Something hit the broom and jarred him badly. His teeth shook, and his ears hurt. He didn't know what was wrong at first, and he just felt empty. He tried to grab his broom and regain control, and realized that he was gripping an ordinary inkpot. The one he had transfigured into a broom.

His eyes widened as he plunged downwards, one hand still outstretched forward, the other clutching an empty inkpot.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

(Adopts meditative pose) "Ommm... Ommm... Ouch! Who threw that?" (Gets hammered by several more anvils, frying pans, clumps of dirts and rotten tomatoes, rocks, and one old, dusty printer. An army of paper wads rain on protectively hunched back, and a dog collar and a brand-new looking Flykiller-X can bounces on head. Dazed auther raises hand and waves a white flag that has magically appeared in her hand.)

Chapter 25: Assassins, Wards, Boredom

Disclaimer:

Tenebrae Nivalis picked up a pitchfork that had been thrown at her a few seconds ago and batted away a rotten tomato that came flying at her. An inkpot came from the other side, but luckily it impaled itself on the other end of the pitchfork and rattled a few seconds before settling down.

TN gingerly shook out the fruit membrane tangled in her hair and was too late to dodge the large snowball that splashed on her rear.

"YOU CANNOT WIN!" chorused the mob on the other side of the battlefield. "YOU CANNOT WIN, WRITER! UPDATE, OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES! YIELD! YIELD! YIELD!"

TN grabbed a white bucket that had bounced on her head a few minutes ago and hung it on the pitchfork and waved it in the air.

"I CAN'T UPDATE IF YOU THROW THINGS AT ME!" she protested. "GO AWAY AND I'LL DO WHAT YOU WANT!"

The crowd retreated and stared at her with eager, disconcerting eyes through telescopes and omnioculars as Tenebrae Nivalis tapped away at her computer, brushing some toothpaste away from her clothes as she did so.

"I'm sure JK Rowling never had to put up with this." she muttered as she clicked with her mouse.

Oh, and by the way, I am experiencing writer's block at the moment and I'm probably not going to update for a few weeks. I can't seem to write the next part of the story.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

His robes fluttered around his legs as he fell, back-first, to the ground. He blinked for a moment and spread his arms uncertainly, and then let out his breath in one smooth sigh.

And the air stopped him.

The inkpot, which he must have dropped at some point, fell after and beyond him, narrowly missing his right ear. Arasar slowly and steadily rightened himself and smoothed his robes. There was a numb, buzzing silence and the crowd erupted.

He must have looked strange, thought Arasar. He was, after all, standing on thin air. The effect must have been startling and unsettling. Surprising, most of all. The inkpot reached the ground and with a small thud that disturbed the sand where it had fallen, cracked into exactly two pieces.

"Ah, well." Arasar said to himself. "It wasn't real, anyway."

Feeling regretful, he wondered what to do. He could make up an illusion of another broom and continue with the match. Or he could go back to the ground and forfeit.

Wood made that decision for him. Getting over his shock at seeing his Seeker stand up in the air and put his hands in his pockets sedately, he let out a great bellow.

"TIME OUT!"

Arasar shrugged and walked down to the ground. Since walking down in one straight line and turning again was difficult, he decided to pretend that the air was forming into an invisible spiral shaped stair for him and walked down it. The crowd became quiet and watched him in what could be called awe. Arasar would have just plunged down to get it over with, but plunging wasn't safe and he wasn't used to it.

He finally stepped on the sand and shrugged at Wood.

"My broom just..." he said.

"No." said Wood grimly. Arasar wondered what he was talking about, and wondering, guiltily, if Wood was reprimanding him, but Wood shook his head and pointed at the Slytherin side of the stadium.

Arasar turned, bewildered. Fred and George Weasley were grimly, and obstinately, hanging on to a Slytherin seventh years arm on both sides.

"Indag Aldosov." said Wood in the same grim tone. "He nearly got you. Or rather, he did, but you did that weird walking on air thing."

Realization struck Arasar.

"The untransfiguring charm." he breathed.

"Precisely." said Dumbledore, coming up from behind Arasar. "Mister Aldosov apparently has been given orders. Voldemort's plan was excellent. Dark Magic cannot be used inside Hogwarts with these new wards up, but an untransfiguring charm would have escaped the ward's notice. He nearly killed you, Arasar. How on earth did you...?"

Arasar just shrugged. He didn't want to give up all his secrets just yet. The air elemental abilities he had gotten from Row had saved his this time. But the next? His abilities was not going to be able enough. Reality hit him hard, purging the euphoria he had felt while flying. Surviving was going to be hard, with Voldemort targetting him. First, Pettigrew. Now this. Both in less than a two months.

His mouth pulled down in a grim line, and he stared expressionlessly at Indag Aldosov, kicking and lashing out at the twins with no avail. It was a frightening expression on one yet so young.

He also, out of the corner of his eye, saw Malfoy land, several emotions fighting to take control of his expression. Anger, relief, disbelief, regret, joy- conflicting emotions, all.

Malfoy had known of the plan. Arasar closed his eyes and bit his lip gently, and turned back to Dumbledore.

"Did... Aldosov cast the spell?" he asked.

"There are more than sufficient eyewitnesses." said Dumbledore. "Including myself."

Arasar nodded.

"Just a moment." he muttered, and slipped out between Dumbledore and Wood and veered, keeping close to the seats. Since about half of the students and teachers had poured out from the spectator's seats to interrogate Dumbledore and Wood, or throw rotten tomatoes at Aldosov. Draco Malfoy just stared at them, biting his lip and twitched nervously when Arasar came up to him, a stony expression on his face.

"You knew about it." said Arasar simply. It wasn't a question. Draco clenched his teeth and his face when paler, even paler than usual, and gave a nod.

"I see." said Arasar. He looked at Malfoy with a blank, chilly expression that scared Draco more than it would have if Arasar had raged, or punched him. He nodded once, brusquely, and turned away and walked back to Dumbledore.

Draco Malfoy just stared at the boy marching away, his robes swirling behind him, and his hair slicked up in angry spikes, with his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. An excellent example of an angry backside. What was he supposed to do, anyway? Warn him? Impossible. He was on the Dark Lord's side, and Potter Dumbledore's golden pawn, the Ministry's poster boy. They were on different side of the war, for Merlin's sake. What did Potter expect him to do?

Malfoy just shrugged and turned away. The entire match was disrupted now, and there was no chance of continuing it. The Dark Lord would try to kill Potter again and again, and someday, Potter would fall.

As simple as that.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar spent the rest of the night in the Room of Requirement. He had requested a room with a boxful of chalk, colored red, yellow, blue, white and purple. The floor was a large blackboard, and there were other material as well- a good ruler, some candles, a lighter, and five sticks made of rowan. These were the basic materials when starting to build a ward around an individual, and though Arasar knew what and how to do everything, his hands still shook.

After drawing a rough circle and refining the blunt edges of it, he was rewarded by a perfect circle a little scuffed around the edges where he had patiently drawn and redrawn and erased imperfect curves. Then he had to make a smaller circle inside it, and that had to be perfect as well. After laying aside the blunted white chalk, he took the red one and marked the space between the two circles patiently.

After that, he took the ruler and measured the outer circle, and took the blue chalk and ruthlessly cut through some of the runes, making seven perfectly straight lines. He lit the candles and carefully placed them where the lines met the outer circle, and marked the spots where the seven lines met the inner circle with the purple chalk.

He carefully picked up the rowan sticks and the yellow chalk, and stepped carefully into the inner circle, and sat down, legs crossed. The candles burned away, and the wax melted slowly and dripped down to the floor.

Arasar paid no attention to it and concentrated on marking the rowan sticks with the yellow chalk.

When the final stick was covered with strange yellow markings, Arasar drew in his breath and sighed. At the same time, a wind came from nowhere and blew all the candles out. All that was left of them was a lump of white wax.

But the room wasn't dark at all. The markings that Arasar had chalked on the floor glowed. White, red, blue and purple lit up by themselves, but not brightly enough so the entire room was illuminated. To Arasar, it looked like he was floating in the air on a moonless night, sitting in the center of two glowing circles.

Arasar sucked in one regretful breath as he concentrated, picked up the first rowan stick, and snapped it into two.

The runes burned for a moment as Arasar threw one half to the right, the other to the left. White lines crisscrossed from the lumps of wax that had once been burning candles and formed seven arches above him.

Arasar sighed again and picked up the second stick, braced it carefully with his palms and thumbs, and snapped it into three parts.

He gathered them carefully and flung them, all three, at a random direction.

At the same time, the white arches above glowed red, then white, and then red again, and split.

"The third." said Arasar, taking the third stick and gently checked the runes. Turning it around, he smudged three runes, snapped it into four, using both his palms, thumbes and forefingers at the same time, and flung them all to his front.

The runes sizzled and the arches above rippled, and then became three thin ones, colored white, red and blue.

"Now that's a pun if I ever heard one." said Arasar quite audibly and picked up the fourth stick. "Number four."

He didn't break it this time and just threw it above him, right at the center where the arches met. The stick never came down again, and the arches blurred and they became four thin lines- the addition was purple.

"The last." said Arasar, and took the fifth, and last, stick and held it vertically, the lower point on his left palm, the other point pressed by his thumb. Exerting gentle effort, he pressed down, and the stick crumbled and became dust, which shimmered and became gold.

Arasar was almost reluctant to part with it as he sprinkled it around him. The last golden beam shot out of the melted wax lumps and joined the others.

"The last part." said Arasar. "Have to get the wording just right."

He stood up, careful not to get any body parts outside the circle.

"I command you light, you lesser manifestations of the five Protections, to surround me, protect me from all malevolent intentions, harms, which include spells, physical attacks, whether directed personally or to the general public, whether on purpose or by accident, whether it be fire, flood, suffocation. In case of a direct attack from an individual, I order you to fling that individual away, far away enough so he or she cannot attempt to harm me again, but not so far so I cannot question him or her, as to ask what was the intention of his or her doing so."

He said this in one breath and felt winded and tired when he completed. He had removed all the fancy 'thou' and 'thee' from the original incantation, because he thought it would be better. He had also changed the Command slightly from the normal one, some additions and removals. He just hoped it would work.

The arches shimmered in response and whirled around, becoming one twisted streak of white, gold, blue, red and purple. It spun around him, and Arasar closed his eyes so he wouldn't become dizzy and spread his arms. He felt the light envelope him and melt around him, and when he opened his eyes again, it was gone.

But he could feel it around him, like a gentle wind accompanying him everywhere, which would become diamond hard when he was attacked.  
He smiled and felt tiredness overwhelm him, and without bothering to go back to the dormitories or even conjure a bed for himself, he settled comfortably in the circle and fell asleep.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"He's been gone for _two days_, Headmaster!" said Remus Lupin persistently.

"Remus," said Dumbledore, "He's perfectly all right. I know what he's doing, and he's probably recuperating from the spell."

"If it's a dangerous spell, you should never have let him do it!" said Sirius, voice tight with impatience.

"It's not a dangerous spell." said Dumbledore wearily. "He's probably been knocked out. He's just recuperating."

Remus and Sirius opened their mouths both at once, and shut it when Snape slammed open the door.

"That Potter," said he, eyes flaming angrily, "Just _barged_ into the classroom in the middle of class. He has the cheek to think he can be _excused_ from that insolent absence of his the last few days."

"He-" began Lupin and Sirius at once when Arasar grumpily came in after Snape.

"Where have you _been_?" said Sirius at the same time Remus demanded _what_ spell exactly have you been foolish enough to try?

Arasar just smiled cheerfully, albeit a little tiredly. Dumbledore noticed that Arasar still had faint dark circles under his eyes and his face was pale, and his shoulders sagged slighlty.

"You are not yet well." said Dumbledore sharply.

"Well enough to antagonize Snape." said Arasar, grinning cheekily at all of them. Sirius smiled, though worriedly, and Remus just frowned wearily at him. Snape snarled soundlessly at him. Dumbledore shrugged wearily.

"I suggest you rest for another day, Arasar." he said. "Are they intact?"

Arasar smiled slightly at the frustration of not being in the know on the faces of Remus and Sirius. "Yes, they're fine. In fact, they're quite good, if I dare say so myself."

"Good." said Dumbledore. "Mind if I check? Stupefy!"

The spell caught Arasar unawares, and the red spell hit him before he could draw his wand. The spell melted into the air around him and vanished, leaving only a slight trace of reddish dust in the air that disappeared in a few seconds as well. Arasar stumbled back a few steps, startled by the impact, but he was unharmed.

"Very good." said Dumbledore, sounding impressed.

Arasar nodded, pleased by the praise. "Thank you, Headmaster. But honestly, I think I'm well enough to-"

"No." said Sirius. "Rest."

Arasar raised an eyebrow at Sirius's unusually sharp, and brusque, tone, but didn't say anything but exited, heading for the Gryffindor Tower, presumably.

"He's ill." said Sirius anxiously as the door gently banged shut. "Did you see his complexion? Remus, he's really-"

"Perfectly fine." said Snape, cutting in with acidic venom. "He has the Gryffindor habit of bouncing back to life and regaining his moronic tendecies, no doubt."

"Severus!" said Dumbledore. "I believe you have a _class_ now."

Snape cast one last poisonous look at Remus and Sirius and left.

"He's fine." said Dumbledore dryly before the two could say anything else. "Don't ask."

Arasar would have agreed wholeheartedly with this statement, if he had heard. But he was engrossed in the conversation he was having with Azar and Helga.

"...and then Drick actually steps on it, and you wouldn't believe the _sound_ it made."

"You're sick, Azar."

"But it's fun, you must admit. Arasar? What do you think?"

"Jolly good."

"SEE?"

"Um. Arasar? I think Azar won't be joining in our conversation for a few hours from now..."

"Why?"

"Becuase Drick just figured out who did what and how."

"Ah."

"Well, Arasar?"

"The wards were fine. I think they were pretty good."

"Hmm."

There was a long silence, and then the scribbling started again.

"Row's coming. Shouts at Drick and Azar. Pummels Azar good. Drick says that Azar is his to kill. Row says no. Shouts."

Arasar laughed at Helga's commentary.

"Arasar?"

Yes, there was Row's brisk, businesslike script.

"You won't believe it. That idiot Voldemort sent an assassin after me."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah. Sorry I didn't tell you til today, but it was a bit hectic from then. I had to start working on casting wards around myself, and then I was unconscious for a few days."

"Who was the assassin? Did you catch him?"

"Um. A seventh year Slytherin named Indag Aldosov. He was caught. I think he's going to have a trial sometime next month..."

"Oh. Seventeen? Poor fellow."

"Mmhmm."

Arasar didn't mention Malfoy. He would have to explain a lot about that, and his poor hand wasn't up to it, especially after scribbling about what felt like a million runes on the floor and sticks.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar tapped his chin with his quill, frowning at his Muggle Studies essay, the one he was having the most problem with. His other essays- Charms and Herbology- had been completed, and he was fairly sure he could get an E on both.

It was about muggle chemistry, and this time it was about how muggle theories could be related to magical theory... transfiguration, for instance- could it be possible that atomic compounds were affected by magic? Or something like that... Professor Elgumton's homework was _hard_. Especially when it got to how magical community this was similar to muggle community that. Or it could be similar theories, like it was now. That was really horrible.

He fidgeted, and tried to continue what he'd written so far. Two lines, actually. Two stupid lines. But as he tried to read it, his mind didn't register it, and his eyes kept flickering wistfully back to the face-down book 'Eragon' on his bed... How he longed to take a break- never mind that he'd just come back from one- and take up the book again and immerse himself in that world...

He yawned and thought about it. He really needed to complete this essay. Or maybe he could just dash down a few more lines and get a 'Poor' or a 'Dreadful'. He could put on the puppy dog eyes- he was learning from Sirius- and whine. 'Professor Elgumton, I'm from ten centuries ago, for goodness sake! I don't even _know _about anything like this- what was a nucleus again, Professor? Why are we learning this, Professor? I don't know anything about muggle technology and theories, professor!'

Nah. Elgumton knew well enough that Arasar read plenty of books about muggle history, technology, science, theories- Arasar had foolishly let that piece of information slip. And now Elgumton probably expected an 'O' standard essay from him.

Come to think of it, everyone expected the best from him. Of course they did. He learned from the 'famous' Founders themselves, defeated a Dark Lord at the age of one and was expected to defeat him again. And he was being trained by an Auror and he had already performed several spectacular deeds...

He made a bitter face. Everyone's expectations were battering him. An exception was Sirius, and Sirius thought he could take care of him. He wistfully recalled the tenth century- it was what people here would call a bit 'primitive' that was true, but what he missed was the normality. Same, plodding boredom... no assassination attempts and certainly no psychotic Dark Lords. No stares. No pointing.

He rolled his eyes to get rid of his uncharacteristic reminiscent mood and stood up, glaring venemously at his essay. Checking his watch, he found out he had another lesson with Moody. After Quidditch practice.

"Never a peaceful moment." said Arasar to himself.

Quidditch, at least, was fairly enjoyable. He had ordered a new broom- a Firebolt, it was called. It was as good as the Supersonic, but this time he had had to pay for it.

Passing the Quaffle was boring, but Arasar had plenty of time to think about his essay. By the time they were finished with practicing, Arasar was already busily constructing the basic structure of the essay in his mind as he hurried to Moody's office.

But thinking about his essay was not the best thing to do when you were training with Moody.

Particularly when he was learning how to defend yourself and win even when you were in a disadvantageous position. Moody had told him that he wasn't allowed any weapons, but Moody had a nice stick, long, firm and light, and he was supposed to attack Arasar with it while Arasar learned how to win despite that.

That, in Arasar's opinion, was impossible.

As he danced out of the stick's way and lashed out at Moody's shoulder with his foot. Moody swatted his pathetic attempt away and jabbed at Arasar's ribcage.

"Ouch!" said Arasar, surprised by the attack. He sat down with a thud and resignatedly rubbed at his bruised side. "That hurt."

"That's the way you learn, boy." said Moody, swiping at Arasar. Arasar rolled back and jumped back awkwardly, narrowly catching Moody's stick as it tried yet again to land on his shoulder and tried to flip it so that Moody would lose it. But Moody gave a counter-flip at that movement, and Arasar just managed to make his wrists- both of them!- hurt.

Badly.

He had aquired at least eleven bruises by the time he limped out of Moody's office. He winced as he poked all of them with his wand to heal them, and tried to remember what he'd prepared to write in his essay. But he was too tired- naturally- and fell asleep after writing another few lines.

Arasar couldn't help being more excited by the final match between the two leading houses for the Quidditch Cup- Gryffindor and Slytherin. Ron didn't help by dashing off every thirty minutes to calculate how much Gryffindor would have to win by to win the Cup.

"...so Ravenclaw lost to Slytherin by sixty points, right? And Hufflepuff narrowly lost to _us_ by twenty points. Thanks to you, mate. Diggory would have caught the Snitch if you hadn't done that freaky move. That means that... let me see... minus forty for the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw match they held last Saturday... "

Hermione Granger, however, couldn't have cared less. She was getting more and more frazzled and was always surrounded by at least five essays she had to complete, several diagrams for Care of Magical Creatures, Astrology, or Muggle Studies, and several other projects besides. Arasar would have asked her how she was getting to all her classes, but for the fact that she was now famous for snapping viciously at anyone who interrupted her studying. Arasar had an earful of complaining from Patil and Brown, Hermione Granger's roommates.

Between Quidditch and training with Moody, Arasar was always needing a shower and had to think up what to write in his growingly difficult essays...

Since all the upcoming matches until the Final Match, as Ron called it were between Hufflepuff


	14. The Rest v

and Ravenclaw or Ravenclaw and Slytherin or Slytherin and Hufflepuff, since

Gryffindor was in the lead, Wood was rather calmer than usual since they had a month to prepare for 'It' as HE called it. But he still had them grinding their noses in practice, so Arasar took about three showers a day.

Ron commented on Draco Malfoy's sudden subdued manner more than once.

"I mean," he said. "He's always onto us about my family and your pathetical potion brewing- well, not that you're bad, but it's not like him to stay quiet about anything."

"Makes you almost scared, doesn't it?" said Arasar.

Another thing was the news that Indag Aldosov went to Azkaban on charges of attempted murder. The fact that the almost-victim was an important member and had made 'significant contributions to the society' or so the Prophet said didn't help Aldosov's chances. That entire morning all of the Slytherins glared murder at him.

"Not your fault." said Dean to him consolingly.

Also, despite the fact that it was Oliver Wood's last, most important, NEWTs year, he somehow managed to pop up everwhere and give startled team members tips and advice.

"Shut up, Oliver!" everyone said more than once.

"He's going to fail his NEWTs." said Hermione Granger once, briskly. "His loss."

It was true that Oliver Wood didn't seem to study at all. Oliver wasn't secretive at all that he planned to play professional Quidditch after graduating- he was certainly talented.  
But the month they had to practice turned to three weeks, than two, and then...

"Alright." he said. "One week away, people."

"One week away." chorused the Weasley twins.

"And we're going to try out best." said Wood, manic glint coming back to his eyes.

"Our best." chanted Fred and George.

"And we're going to win!" said Wood empathetically.

"Maybe." said Fred.

"Definitely." said Wood.

"Perhaps." said George.

Wood ignored them and just looked at all of them dangerously.

"Because," he said. "We've got two _unbeatable_ beaters."

"That's us." said them.

"Three _magnificent_ chasers." said Wood, whirling onto the girls. Fred and George tittered girlishly.

"And a Seeker who has _never lost us a match_."

"Please, Wood." said Arasar wearily. "I've only played in four games so far."

"And me." said Wood as an afterthought, utterly ignoring an exasperated looking Arasar.

"Yeah." said George unenthusiastically. "Great."

"A spanking good Keeper." said Fred brightly.

"So we're going to WIN!" repeated Wood, eyes glinting at the twins to defy him once more. They fell silent. "And how are we going to manage that?"

"Practice." said the twins in monotone.

"Let's go out, then, team." said Wood cheerfully.

"Wood," complained Angelina to Arasar as they went out. "Is a maniac."

"He is." agreed Arasar. "But I want to win, too."

They spent another sweat-provoking practice in which the Chasers tried to get past Wood and Fred and George practiced swacking Bludgers. Arasar spent the whole time sleepily drifting around and contemplating the unpleasantness of the jog he would have to take around the grounds at dawn the next day. He occasionally dived and did dramatic moves to satisfy Wood, whose beady eyes fixed on him if he drifted too long, but his heart wasn't in it.

He wished that the match would come sooner, despite that Wood kept shouting that they needed more _practice_. It was like this with exams too, sometimes. He got sick of studying and wanted to get it over with.

But not quite, he thought to himself as he felt the air on his face. He enjoyed Quidditch and flying. It was just that this was practice, and it was simply just dead boring.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAa

This is what you call the calm before a storm.

Chapter 26: Storm Approaching

No, the thing is, I'm stuck on a part a few chapters away. Chapter thirty four? Somewhere there. I can't seem to write the next scene... kept trying. Kept deleting it.

(Weeps) Though I think that this chapter is pretty pathetic, myself.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"The day has come." said Fred reverantly, clasping his hands. He would have looked the exact part of a devout saint, complete with the morning light tricking over his red hair through the window if all hadn't known too well his reputation. "The day!"

"THE day." repeated George, tears glimmering in his eyes. "The day we have awaited for so long."

"The day..." they breathed in unison. "Of the _match_."

"IT." said Wood.

Arasar rolled his eyes.

"Boys." said Hermione Granger and Angelina Johnson at once. Hermione Granger was absently fingering a locket on her neck, the shape of an hourglass with a knob on the middle.

But she could barely be seen behind her usual wall of books, so Arasar could have seen wrong.

"It will start," said George, clasping his hands to his breast, his tears glimmering at the end of his red eyelashes and finally dripping down one freckled cheek. "In an hour."

"And we," said Fred. "Will win."

"That's the spirit." said Oliver Wood.

All of the team picked at their food at breakfast, though Oliver Wood tried to encourage them to eat. Despite the fact that he hadn't touched his scrambled eggs, of course.

Arasar halfheartedly poked at his slimy eggs and gave it up and just downed a glass of water and stared at his plate, twiddling his thumbs gloomily. It didn't help to think, to assure himself that his nervousness would disappear when he got out to the field. It was true, too. His mind knew that. It had happened every time- he always left his fear on the ground as he flew. But it was one thing to think that when the match was over and he was reminiscing. It was another thing to think that when he was only a few minutes away from playing.

He slumped in his chair and sighed, glaring at the brilliantly blue sky he could see through the ceiling. He wondered if Diggory would lend him the goggles again.

At least it would give him something to do. He jumped up and walked around to the Hufflepuff table where Diggory was.

Giving Cedric a winning smile, Arasar tried to make his voice sound as sweet as possible. "Cedric, can you lend me your goggles?"

Cedric grinned back at him. He knew exactly what he was trying to do.

"Now, why should I do that?" he said, putting his hands behind his back onto the bench and leaning on it. "Give me a good reason."

"Now, you don't want Slytherin to win, do you?" said Arasar persuasively. "I mean, honestly, do you want to see them have the Quidditch cup? And the House cup? You know they'll win the competition if we lose, don't you? Do you really want to see silver and green banners to hang from the ceiling at the last feast?"

"All right, all right." said Cedric. "I get your point. I don't want that." he produced the goggles from his bag. Arasar eyed them.

"You carry them around all the time?" he asked.

"I was planning to give them to you anyway." said Cedric.

Arasar took them and gave Cedric a grateful smile.

"And don't scratch the lenses!" Cedric hollered to Arasar as he went back to the Gryffindor table. "They cost _galleons_!"

"Doesn't anything?" Arasar hollered back as Wood suddenly surged up like a nervous tsunami and yelled 'LOCKER ROOMS, NOW.'

"You'd better win!" threatened Cedric, grinning, as everyone, as if they had been waiting for a cue, rose up and headed for the Quidditch field, chattering.

Oliver Wood attempted to give them one last pep talk as they waited in their red and gold robes with brooms in hand, looking bored.

"This is the day." he said.

"That the Lord hath given us." said Angelina. "Shut up, Oliver. We've heard it a thousand times."

"So once more won't hurt." protested Wood.

"No!" said Katie Bell. "Let's go out."

No one could argue with that. Besides, it was infinitely preferable than listening to Wood yet again.

They were hit by a wave a cheering from the Gryffindors when they came out. Arasar gratefully adjusted his goggles as the Slytherins came out, too. He couldn't make out any of their faces, but he was sure their expressions would be unpleasant.

Madam Hooch seemed a bit surprised by their early arrival but shook off her mild surprise and yelled at the captains to shake hands. After a mighty effort from Wood and the Beater who was Slytherin captain to crush each other's fingers, they sprang apart and glared at each other, Wood gingerly flexing his fingers behind his back.

"Mount your brooms! On three, one-"

Arasar obediently swung one leg over his Firebolt.

"Two-"

Tensing-

"Three!"

The Snitch disappeared so fast that it left an image of itself where it had hovered for a second, uncertainly. Arasar sped after it, bent on his broom to gain momentum, as usual. Draco Malfoy half-heartedly tailed him, but his broom was slower.

"Right." said Arasar under his breath. "Oh snitchy... No need to hide, now, come out."

A passing Chaser carrying the Quaffle gave him a strange look as he dived, closely pursued by Chasers of the other team. Narrowly ducking to avoid a Bludger, he swerved and stared at the sky for traces of gold. There was a telltale glint at the Gryffindor hoops, so Arasar threaded his way through Chasers, Bludgers, Beaters and imaginary obstacles to throw Malfoy off his tail, eyes straining to see.

He let go of the slight fear that Voldemort's attack would come again while he was playing Quidditch. He dismissed that. Surely Voldemort wasn't that stupid...

Either the golden glint he had seen was fake or the Snitch had zoomed away while he flew toward its general direction. Biting back a curse, he looked back to make sure that Draco Malfoy hadn't seen anything yet.

Malfoy was speeding down at the ground. Arasar cautiously tailed him, eyes narrowed for the Snitch. There was nothing there. Malfoy was faking. He swerved and started circling around the field again.

The Chasers were doing badly, due to an accidently-well aimed Bludger from a Slytherin Beater. Katie kept dazedly shaking her head, and passes went awry. Slytherin was leading by forty points. He remembered Wood hammering into his head that he should catch the Snitch before Slytherin was thirty points ahead...

Uh oh...

For the meanwhile, Arasar concentrated on blocking whatever Draco Malfoy tried to do. It was amusing to see Malfoy's infuriated face when he saw Arasar lazily weaving in front of him and making him swerve to pass.

The score turned to fifty to ten to sixty to ten, and then sixty to twenty. Slytherin always frustratingly seemed to be ten points ahead.

Arasar turned around gently and accidently caught sight of the Snitch hovering near the ground. He pretended not to notice and casually descended toward it, the way his eyeballs were looking disguised behind his goggles. Malfoy warily followed him.

"Slytherin leading, seventy to forty!"

"Finally!" said Arasar, and without much more ado, zoomed toward the Snitch. Draco Malfoy went rigid with surprise for a second behind him and desperately tried to catch up.

Arasar felt his ears go blank as pressure changed at an enormous speed. Hand outstretch, he barely noticed a black blur speeding toward his head and missed it only by chance.

But it did its work, and he lost sight of the Snitch. The crowd groaned in disappointment.

Draco Malfoy, however, still had his eyes on it and with a sharp _whang_ing sound, flew past Arasar. Arasar leaned forward and urged his broom to go.

He overtook Malfoy quite easily but still had no idea where the Snitch was. The best he could do was fly directly above Malfoy and hope that he could catch the Snitch before Malfoy could.

"Slytherin leading, seventy to fifty! Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are flying- well not quite next to each other, as all of you can see-"

There!

Arasar sped forward and dived directly in front of Malfoy, making Malfoy stop in his (er, tracks?). His finger sought the Snitch, found it, grabbed it.

The implications didn't strike him until he landed, smiling. He had somehow entirely forgotten that this was 'It' and 'The Match'. In the air, it had been a game, like any other game, and until six other Gryffindor players and most of the Gryffindor students mobbed him, cheering, yelling, (and in Wood's case, crying) he just stood there, stunned for a few seconds, and then a grin spread across his face as Wood wrenched the Quidditch Cup from Snape, who was holding it, and waved it in the air.

Arasar's eyes met Padfoot's. Padfoot was still on the steps, wagging his tail so hard it seemed like a furry blur. His tongue was lolling out and his eyes were pale and bright with approval and happiness. When he saw Arasar looking at him, he let out a series of barks.

Arasar blinked, wide eyed for a moment, and slowly pulled off his goggles and tossed them neatly to Cedric Diggory, giving him a thumbs-up. He took out his wand and let out his own celebration.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Unlike his expectations, the usual raven didn't burst out of his wand. Instead, a silvery pair of antlers appeared, followed by a graceful head with a blunted nose, and then an elegant neck, followed by long, slender legs and hoofs.

A stag?

The crowd around him cheered again, not noticing Arasar's bewilderment. They thought it was another pretty trick. The stag galloped into the air, as if the paths of wind that had solidified for Arasar hardened for the stag as well, and became silvery mist as it disappeared into the air.

Arasar looked at Lupin, who stared back, brown eyes full of confusion that equaled Arasar's, along with a turmoil of emotions Arasar couldn't make out.

"I don't know what's happened." said Lupin before Arasar could ask when he knocked on his office door, an hour later. "I am inclined to think it has something to do with your changing eras, because the only other thing that changes peoples' Patronuses and that's emotional shock. An _extreme_ one at that. Unless I'm much mistaken, you haven't had one of those."

Arasar thought back.

"Definitely not." he said, shaking his head. "But... the stag. I didn't even know my father. How could-"

"I don't know." said Lupin quietly. "I've asked Dumbledore, but he says it isn't very important. He's looking into it, though I think he won't find much. Your situation is unique."

"Isn't it." said Arasar bitterly. "Thanks, Prof."

Lupin winced ever so slightly at the abbreviation.

"I better check up on Fred and George." said Arasar, smiling slightly. "I can't miss any of their jokes. It's going to be fun."

Lupin nodded and Arasar went back to the Gryffindor Tower, still pondering the mystery.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaa

The euphoric atmosphere that continued for almost two days was suddenly drowned out by the prospect of exams. Ron recovered from his enormous hangover after drinking more than ten bottles of butterbeer (Oh, come on, Percy, it was FREE! I mean, how can I pass up an oppurtunity like that?) and started studying. Arasar read the textbooks, marked the parts he wasn't very familiar with and memorized feverishly. His broom forgotten and gathering dust in the corner of his room, he spent most of his free time in the Common Room, patiently reading, practicing and memorizing.

Hermione Granger often went to Madam Pomfrey for Calming Draughts, as did Arasar, along with Concentration Potions, which were tricky to brew but were excellent when you were studying. The more expert potion brewers sold the potions by dozens, and reaped quite a lot of money in return. Arasar hardly had a moment to read his fantasy books- instead he spent his time mixing his Concentration Potions with his pumpkin juice so he wouldn't feel the salty taste of the potion and drinking it while he pored over the History notes Ron had generously loaned him. History was his weak point, obviously, and Dumbledore didn't know much about goblin wars because he'd never been interested in them.

Arasar quite frankly felt the same.

He took to the library. The Hogwarts library was enchanted and was much bigger than it seemed at first glance. After all, books had gathered there across a span of a thousand years- more, even. Even reckoning at an addition of at least ten books a year, the amount that came out was... stunning. The library, consequentially, had rooms deeper in that not many were interested in with books written in the ancient language, which Arasar could read, but not anyone else, and books written in Runes, which Arasar also could read. He usually spent his time surrounded by books for the sake of NOT studying near Hermione Granger, who snapped angrily at anyone who came near her, and the other students studying for the OWLs or the NEWTs and giggly girls that seemed to think that the exams were a joke.

"Okay." said Arasar, surveying the books on his table. Besides textbooks and books that were closely related to the stuff that came up in them, there were additional books in Ancient Runes, a more precise dictionary was one, so he could decipher what the bloody scrolls were saying- he would have given up on them, weren't it for the fact there were little-known facts that could be tremendously useful in battle- and more books on Divination (theory only) and Arithmancy, which he hadn't taken. "Maybe I need a break."

He disguised himself and went on a shopping spree in Muggle London that evening, blatantly ignoring the fact that other students were up to their teeth in studying. He bought a small pinstriped suit in imitation of Fudge's, which was a joke, and more T-shirts with unrecognizable scribbles that obviously must have MEANT something, and he considered getting his ears pierced, but decided not to. He also bought the most freakishly punky shirt he could find for a joke.

And he mailed it to the Dursleys.

He could still remember their address. Number four, Privet Drive, Surrey... in the deeps of forgotten memories that he wanted to stay forgotten. They weren't pleasant memories. But their address was still embedded in his mind, by-product of sitting on the doorstep, reluctant to go in for the chores he would be assaulted with and the taunts he would be have to indure.

Number 4.

He painstakingly folded the shirt and wrapped it in plain, respectable looking brown paper, and unwrapped it on a second thought and dashed off a quick note and included inside.  
'A business proposition' he wrote on the brown paper and wrote the address on it and dropped it off at the post office.

When he when back to Hogwarts after dark, he was relieved to see no one had noticed his absence. Folding his new purchases into his closet, he cast a resentful look at his long-forgotten Potions notes and fell asleep.

After that, time seemed to flow by for some reason. Day after day Arasar felt his confidence drain away at the giant, gray and looming prospect of exams. It nagged away at him every time he tried to do something unrelated with it, and he always found himself returning to the library to memorize at least another paragraph of his notes.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn!" he cried out to himself two days before it and ended up in an undignified heap on the floor. His chair had went over because he had tilted it too far, and his robes crumpled around him and his legs waved uselessly above him as he stared up at the ceiling angrily.

Padfoot spent his time smugly looking at everyone in the Common Room as to say 'Well, look at me! I don't need to study!' which was one of the major reasons Arasar chose to study in the library. Many others followed his example- they all wanted to escape the canine's superior glare.

Arasar spent the time he could spare calculating his exams scores.

"Okay." he would murmur to himself. "Transfigurations: O or an E. Charms likewise. Care of Magical Creatures E or an A, Defense Against Dark Arts O- well, an E if I'm unlucky. A for Potions, E if I'm really lucky, E or an A for Herbology..."

But it didn't help at all and only spurred on Arasar's frustrations with himself, his notes, his textbooks and his teachers and most of all- the exams.

On the last day he took a break, deciding to relax, away from everything. He simply took a walk to a stream he knew could be located in the Forbidden Forest and dipped his feet in it and simply cleared his mind, releasing anxious thoughts and frustrations. It turned out to be a good choice, since his tranquility lasted until the next day, while the others who had studied feverishly while he had rested were jumpy and nervous.

The first day he took Charms and Potions exams. Charms was easier than he expected- he had little problem with the spells, and he was fairly sure he had answered all the questions but two on the written exam correctly.

Potions, however, was a different matter...

They all sat down in the dungeons and were told to brew a simple Shrinking Potion and a more advanced antidote for a specific potion. Trying not to breathe in the smelly fumes and spirals of puke-colored steam that rose from a Hufflepuff sitting next to him, he wiped the sweat from his face and concentrated on his potions.

He spent the night reading, just reading, not memorizing, Defense Against Dark Arts and Herbology notes.  
The Defense exam was the most unusual test he had ever come across. Professor Lupin had arranged an obstacle course that consisted of wading through a pool with a darkness spell around it, alone with a lantern at the end of it and a hinkypunk, a squad of Redcaps, and other things. The last one was a Boggart which every student had to go in to face in a trunk.

Arasar thought he had done quite well. He had blundered a little in the hinkypunk pool, but otherwise he had done everything perfectly. It was Herbology that he was worried about.

It was hard. He had to strip off the leaves of Kaulipor plants, which resisted viciously until you prodded it in the right place. He also had to write which plant had very similar properties to the Kaulipor, as well as other tricky questions. Arasar left five questions left unsolved because he didn't remember or didn't know at all.

"My fault for missing the first month." said Arasar to himself wretchedly as he plodded away from the greenhouses.

The next day was Care of Magical Creatures. It was easier than Arasar had expected- Hagrid set up fences around three spots and put knarls, flobberworms, and a hippogriff on them each. The hippogriff was optional.

Arasar saw his chance to get a good grade and jumped at the chance, like Hermione Granger did. Ron said later to Arasar that it looked too chancy (did you see those TEETH?) and Patil and Brown said it was smelly and stayed away.

Arasar knew pretty much what to do- they had studied hippogriffs, Dean told him, but Malfoy had neatly foiled that one and almost got Hagrid out of his job, but fortunately no one really trusted Malfoy, so it was all right. But the incident (apparently Malfoy had provoked a hippogriff, and the hippogriff had attacked him) was still imprinted firmly in everyone's minds and they were all reluctant to get in.

Arasar had no qualms about the hippogriff, who was called Nightfeathers, and just did what Hagrid told him to do and got along fantastically with Nightfeathers. By the time the exam was over, Arasar thought he had managed to scrape a decent grade.

He fully relaxed then. With the prospect of vacation only a month away, he expected to spend the rest of the time in peace.

It didn't quite happen that way.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I sort of skimmed over the exams. They weren't very important...

Okay. And- what is a beta? I know vaguely what it is, but I need some precise answers. I'm still new to fanfiction. If it is what I think it is, I'm going to need one quite soon.

Chapter 27: Third Attempt

Ooh, I'll have to thank everyone for sending me all those replies... Particularly to the person who compared a beta to Hermione. Very creative.

No... slash... I think I'm a bit to young to write that, thank you very much. Though there is romance in 'Prankster's Blood' my rather insane fic, but I don't plan romance to be very important.

Yes, I know I get typos. I groan sometimes when I read over my own fic, but I'm too... lazy to fix them.

Need a beta. Needed qualities: Very good at spelling and grammar. Well, she/he has to be better than me, anyway. Patience. Extreme patience...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Takes place two days after attempted assassination on one HJP...

"So that attempt failed as well..." said Voldemort thoughtfully. He showed no visible sign of anger, but with psychotic Dark Lords, you never knew. "Probably Dumbledore intervened. Obviously they had prepared beforehand for something like this. Orinsen. Have you anything of interest to report?"

If Indag Aldosov had been the Alpha of the ungraduated Slytherins, Udome Orinsen was definitely the Beta. Now that Aldosov was in Azkaban, Orinsen had taken his place as the leader of the followers still in Hogwarts.

"Yes, my lord." said Orinsen gleefully. He had known this for quite a while, but had waited, bided his time until it was right, when the information would gain him the most favor. "A mudblood by the name of Hermione Granger possesses a Time-turner."

Voldemort just raised an almost nonexistent eyebrow.

"Indeed?"

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort leaned back and closed his eyes. Most of the audience held in relieved sighs. Their Master's eyes were red and dead scary.

"Ah..." said Voldemort suddenly, a smile spreading across his face. "The Defense Against Dark Arts Professor. What did you say his name was?"

"Remus Lupin, my lord."

"Is he friendly with the boy?"

Orinsen blinked rapidly, thinking about it.

"Yes..." he said. "Yes, my lord. They are fairly friendly."

"Good, then." said Voldemort, eyes glinting like bloodred rubies. "This time, the attack shall come from an unfamiliar direction. This time, the plan shall succeed. If it does not work, YOU will be responsible, Orinsen. And what happened to Aldosov with happen to you."

"I understand, my lord." said Orinsen, repressing a shiver.

"But the plan shall be carried out..." said Voldemort. "After the exams are over, Orinsen. I want Potter to have his guard down."

Orinsen bowed again. Whatever the plan was, this time it had to succeed. Otherwise...

His Darkness would be most discontent.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It was the kind of day when you couldn't help feeling cheerful. The sun wasn't blazing, but hidden behind a decent cloud and a breeze played around Hogwarts. Since most of his morning classes were in the outdoors, Arasar was content to patiently strip of leaf after poisonous leaf of Teygle plants on a bench around the tree and throw them into a bucket. Spirits were high because the exams were (finally!) over, and creases on face finally smoothed out, and the laughter that had been subdued by the prospect of exams had returned.

Teygle's weren't very poisonous, and Arasar had a distinct feeling all the teachers were relieved that the exams were over, and celebrating in their own way by giving the students next to no homework and setting them on extremely easy projects.

This mood lasted until sundown, when he cheerily slung his bag over his shoulder and jauntily wiped the dirt from his hands as he walked back into the castle, looking forward to a Moody-free evening he would spend with his book and a bottle of butterbeer.

Until, that is, he heard a voice.

"Lacero!"

Arasar stopped suddenly and turned around.

"Whatsup?" said Seamus.

"Nothing." said Arasar. Plainly, the others had heard nothing. He fixed his eyes on the door the sound had come from. The lacerating curse- nasty. His curiousity aroused, he gave Seamus and Neville a winning smile. "Need to go to the bathroom, that's all."

Seamus shrugged and set off without him.

Arasar reached the door in three quick strides and gently slid into the room and surveyed the scene, good mood evaporating with every passing second.

A seventh year Slytherin by the name of Udome Orinsen was standing in front of a fifth year Hufflepuff with his wand raised. Besides him was a thin, ratty looking sixth year Slytherin that Arasar didn't know the name of. The Hufflepuff had a nasty cut on her cheek that dripped blood at the edge of it that had obviously been caused by the lacerating curse.

"What the heck," said Arasar coldly, "Do you think you're doing?"

Orinsen turned around, giving Arasar a nasty smile.

"Harry Potter." he said in acknowledement. Arasar gave him an frosty look and pointed his wand at the Hufflepuff and murmured a basic healing charm. The misty gray spell hit her and she gasped in slight pain and surprise as the cut grew thinner and disappeared.

"Impressive work." said Orinsen lazily. He just looked at Arasar expectantly.

"May I ask why you were trying out that spell on her?" said Arasar.

"Everyone has their hobbies." said Orinsen, leaning against a wall. "Why not this?"

Arasar clenched his teeth and made a half-seen gesture that was supposed to slam Orinsen against the opposite wall, but thought better of it.

"You." said Arasar to the Hufflepuff. "Can go out now."

The Hufflepuff cast one scared look at the two Slytherins and Arasar and hurried out of the room.

"Well?" said Arasar. "What have you got to say to me?"

Orinsen's eyebrows went up.

"Why do you think I want to talk to YOU?" he said, sneering.

"Obviously that Hufflepuff was bait." said Arasar scathingly. "I'm no fool. My friends didn't hear your voice. You performed a spell to make sure no one but me heard you. What is it you want?"

Orinsen narrowed his eyes at Arasar and then shrugged.

"It's Indag." said Orinsen. "Indag Aldosov. He was my best mate. It's your fault he went to Azkaban."

"So you want revenge." said Arasar. "Fine, then. How are you going to take it, then?"

If Orinsen was surprised with Arasar's bluntness, he didn't show it.

"A duel." he said. "Tomorrow night, eight o clock, in the Quidditch field."

"If you want." said Arasar. "Terms?"

"No unforgivables." said Orinsen, smirking. "Lasts until one of us gives up."

"Tomorrow night, eight." repeated Arasar. "Fine, then."

He turned to go.

There was something fishy about it, Arasar thought. He was no fool. But he was fairly sure he could deal with whatever Orinsen had planned- perhaps an ambush. In a duel of magic, he could easily overpower all of them. If that was all Orinsen could think up, he was unimaginative and very stupid.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

He was walking out to meet, and duel, with Orinsen when Malfoy managed to somehow mysteriously appear in front of him. He must have been hiding behind a pillar or something, Arasar decided as he gave Malfoy a decidedly cool look.

"Well?" he said. "What have you to say to me?"

Malfoy bristled at Arasar's tone, but just stood silent, as if he didn't quite know how to phrase what he wanted to say.

"I have an appointment." said Arasar bitingly. "As I'm sure YOU know."

"Fine, then!" said Malfoy suddenly, angrily. "Keep your wand with you, Potter. Tonight. That's all I can say."

Arasar raised an eyebrow. Of course he would have his wand. He was going to a duel.

Or it could be a warning. 'Keep your wand with you' would perhaps translate into 'be ready for danger'. Malfoy could be warning him that Orinsen was a great deal more powerful than he looked, or that Orinsen had something planned for him. Arasar rather thought that the latter was more likely.

"Tonight?" he repeated shrewdly.

"You heard me." said Malfoy angrily, sticking his hands into his pockets and using them to hunch his shoulders more effectively. "Tonight."

Arasar nodded slowly, fixing a sharp green gaze on Malfoy.

"Thanks for the warning." he said, tilting his head. "I'll keep that in mind."

With that, he turned around and strolled out of the hall.

It was a sharp, cold and clear sort of night. Arasar observed the moon- it was full that day, and it had a yellow sort of color, the color of old parchment. That particular night, the moon looked ancient, and Arasar was reminded that it had existed hundreds of thousands of years before he was born, and would endure that much and perhaps even more after he had died. It gave him a wistful feeling as he stole out to the Quidditch field.

Orinsen hadn't arrived yet. Arasar seated himself on one of the spectator boxes and waited patiently as wind rustled through the leaves and untidied his hair again. Ruefully pushing it out of his face again and checking his watch, he saw that Orinsen was five minutes late.

"Oh... kay." said Arasar to himself, frowning. "NOW this is definitely weird."

Perhaps Orinsen's plan was to keep Arasar up the whole night and thus make him irritable. This certainly was no great revenge.

He was about to get up and go back to the Gryffindor dormitories when he saw, suddenly, two blurry figures appear on the edge of the Quidditch field. One appeared to be a tall boy, maybe it was Orinsen?- and he was supporting the other person, who was slumped slightly.

Orinsen, if that was him, put the other person down on the ground and fled.

Arasar raised his eyebrows, puzzled. No one could Apparate on Hogwarts grounds. How had they appeared, anyway? Was that Orinsen? Why had he run away, and who was that man- the unconscious one?

"Well, if he needs help..." Arasar muttered to himself, striding out toward the person. "I've got a bone to pick with Orinsen. What the heck is he doing, anyway?"

He was halfway across the field when the man, who he had taken for unconscious, suddenly rose, jolting and throwing back his head and shaking madly.

Arasar stopped dead in his tracks as the man suddenly let out a groan of pain as he shook. His face stretched, his nose bent forward, and he sprouted hair, and the eyes snapped open, revealing yellow eyes.

With slitted pupils.

The man was no longer human.

He was a werewolf.

And with a jolt of horror, Arasar realized who exactly it was, and also took in the moon, the bright yellow moon.

The full moon.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Udome Orinsen rapidly ran the plan through in his mind. Steal Time Turner. Stun Lupin in morning and take him back a few hours to when Potter was waiting for him. Drop Lupin off in front of Potter. Run away fast before the Stunner wears off.

He remembered with a shiver what the Dark Lord had told him.

"I am counting on Potter to realize what exactly Lupin is. He will not, I imagine, know much about werewolves since they were scarce a thousand years ago. Werewolves, as you know, are very resistant to magic and I am also counting on Potter not to try to harm Lupin. He will be ripped to shreds."

He also remembered a fragment of a lesson on werewolves he had once had.

"...werewolves are resistant to all forms of magic, even the Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse. For this reason, the Werewolf Capture Unit uses a special weapon with a silver tip to restrain and capture a werewolf. The only approach that works is a physical attack, and even that rarely works because the werewolf is faster than you and many times stronger than you, not to mention infinitely more agile..."

Yes, Potter wouldn't have a chance. Especially if he didn't dare attack Lupin for fear of harming him.

The Dark Lord was a clever planner indeed.

Udome checked his watch. Seven in the morning. About the time the moon would set, and the werewolf would turn back into human and head out for breakfast. Wolvesbane restrained him this time. But not a second time, no. When they went back, the effects of the Potion would have already worn off...

He strolled to Lupin's office and lay in wait.

After a few minutes, the door gently opened and Lupin stepped out, wearing those horribly worn robes of his. Orinsen eyed them distastefully and aimed his wand at Lupin and whispered

"Stupefy!"

Grabbing the werewolf's robes, Orinsen hurriedly levitated him and managed, with the help of several secret passageways, to go to the Quidditch field undetected. Canceling the levitation charm, he frantically undid the Time turner and twisted the knob eleven times.

All around him, time shifter and reluctantly grinded to a halt for him only, and started going back in reverse. The rising sun was pulled back into the ground and Orinsen apprehensively watched the full moon rise back from the other side of the earth and position itself to where the sun had been- or would be- in the morning. Orinsen scrambled back as Lupin started to twitch, and barely looked at Potter, who was on the other side of the field, and stumbled away from the werewolf, eager to get away.

And an ear splitting howl resounded around the Quidditch field before Orinsen left the barrier that blocked out all sound. No one would hear a thing outside a certain perimeter around Potter, and they would discover his dead body in the field the next morning.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Ah... well. You see, I wanted to end third year with a bang. And preferably a bloody mess of poor Arasar, of course. A bit of a rush, especially after the Untransfiguring charm incident, but needed all the same.

Chapter 28: Problem, er, Solved?

Tenebrae Nivalis scratched her head innocently, smugly sure that no one would be able to pierce her super-strong metal special-astronaut titantium armour, specially designed with an oxygen tank and thick, rubbery boots. Her helmet was made out of five-inch thick green plastic, and behind the eye-slit, her eyes glittered with confidence.

Another Flykiller X can bounced on her helmet. TN barely felt it and stretched out and looked up at the sky, waving her arms in glee. Her readers would never be able to torture her and throw things at her now...

A mob rushed at her and picked her up, and carried her and dropped her down from a cliff that had suddenly appeared.

"OKAY!" screamed TN. "I'll update! Save me!"

With a strange jerking feeling, Tenebrae Nivalis felt something tug on her super-thick rubber boots and she strained to look up. There were about fifty gleeful faces grinning down at her, at the top of the cliff. One of them made a cutting motion at the elastic rope that was tied around her foot. Sneaky readers. Tenebrae Nivalis waved a white flag she had packed in her armour- (Just in case) and waved it, sighing in defeat.

AN. Yeah. I don't like Voldemort and DE meeting scenes either. Try to make them short. And the graduated Death Eaters can't infiltrate Hogwarts- but the Slytherins, at least the ones that support V, can get in and out. And Dumbledore's too softhearted and believes they can redeem themselves (Somehow) to expel the lot of them.

Ehem. Arasar isn't an Animagus yet. Thanks.

Those who have READ the previous chapter will know that no magic of any kind can harm a werewolf. Thus, no levitation charms, no air spells, even it doesn't count as orthodox magic.

Thanks and apologies to all who tried out for the beta position- and gratefulness to my new beta, Syme...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The wolf howled once and leapt for his throat.

Arasar sprang back, training kicking in as Professor Lupin- no, the werewolf lunged at him, mouth open, white fangs glittering in the silvery yellow moonlight. This certainly wasn't the Professor. It was the werewolf. The two weren't the same.

He dodged to the side again as the werewolf swiped as his arm with one clawed paw, snarling. A thin scratch ran down from his shoulder to his elbow. At least it hadn't been the teeth, which would have infected him. He shot an immobilizing spell at it, but the wolf just shook it off as it were nothing. Casting a desperate look around the field, he saw nothing that would help him.

"Sonorus!" he whispered, pointing his wand at his throat as he ducked. This couldn't go on for long. "HELP! Somebody HELP!"

The sound would have woken anyone in Hogwarts, but nothing happened. He tried again, using his earth element to raise the sand on the field as a sort of shield.

"Gads." he whispered as the wolf slammed into the weak barrier and plunged through it, snapping his jaws irritably to get rid of the sand lodged between his teeth.

Arasar made a half-hearted sign of power to fling the wolf away, but the wolf shook off that spell, too and just growled at him and advanced, step by step, furiously glinting yellow eyes glaring at Arasar. There was no hatred there. The wolf did not regard Arasar as a living being, like Professor Lupin would have done. This thing thought of him as food...

A shiver ran down Arasar's arms at the thought. He gathered his magic and tried to stay calm as the wolf's hungry yellow eyes fixed on him.

"Argent."

He closed his eyes as the silver dust ran out of his hands and formed a barrier between him and the wolf. He felt the energy drain out of him. It was a cruel attack- silver burned werewolves, and badly. But Arasar pushed the thought away and concentrated maintaining the barrier. The wolf knew that the silver would kill him. But Arasar couldn't keep it up all night.

A thought struck him. He could fly away! Leap into the air and seek safety.

But the wolf wouldn't wait for him. It would turn its attention to Hogwarts, where hundreds of students were talking, laughing, living- and no one had heard his calls. If he wasn't much mistaken, there was a barrier to make sure no one heard him. This wasn't just a weak ambush or a serious prank. This was planned murder.

He couldn't let it get inside the school. He couldn't hold it down with magic. He couldn't do anything.

I could run inside the Forest, thought Arasar with some relief. I can... lure it inside the Forest and lead it on a wild chase.

That was what he had to do. Mustering his concentration, he kept the silver dust between him and the wolf while the other half of his concentration lifted him gently up into the air.

The silver disappeared as soon as he let go of it, and the wolf bounded at him furiously.

"Gads!" Arasar gasped as he flitted up as far as he could go. He hadn't any idea that werewolves could leap so high. Cautiously keeping an eye on the wolf and waving his arm around to let the enticing smell of blood waft toward the werewolf, he gently drifted back, toward the forest, careful not to take the way that would cross through Hagrid's cabin. No doubt Hagrid could deal with a werewolf, he was two times as big, whereas Arasar was about the same height as the wolf- (it was BIG)- but he imagined Hagrid wouldn't be very pleased if the wolf gobbled up Fang.

Or no! Arasar remembered. Wolves didn't go for other animals. That meant all the animals in the Forest were safe. That gave him a sense of relief.

"Come on!" he said, waving his arm at the werewolf. A drop of red blood splashed through the air, and the wolf hesitated, and nosed it before drooling again and leaping at Arasar.

The wolf was a frightening creature. It had a long, bluntish snout that would reveal sharpened teeth. Its fur was bristling, and it shone gray-silver in the moonlight. But most intimidating were its eyes, not red, like Voldemort's (cliche, in Arasar's opinion) but yellow. A horrible golden yellow with slitted pupils that showed no control, no mercy, no reason. Arasar was made even more afraid by it because his heightened senses told him what he read in its eyes were true.

"This is going to be a long night." he murmured to himself.

It was. Though Arasar knew perfectly well that Voldemort was behind this, he suspected that Voldemort had underestimated him and had expected him to flee or try to attack the werewolf, or not attack at all. Voldemort hadn't known that he had a way to escape: through the air. Though all land animals and people were vulnerable and most certainly would have died, Arasar could use his basic elemental magic to fly without the aid of a broom. This was by far the most potent assassination attempt Voldemort had tried.

"Never underestimate a thirteen year old boy, Volds." he muttered to himself. But he still had the tricky task of making sure the wolf didn't run off and bite someone ELSE, which was Arasar's greatest problem. He would have to keep watch over it the whole night. Damn.

"I need my beauty sleep." Arasar protested to the growling wolf below as he slowly, slowly, led it into the Forest. Being silly was the only way to pass the time and keep him sane.

"You're interrupting me."

The wolf ignored his words and sprang at him again. Arasar marvelled at how high it could leap.

The ideal solution would be to stun the wolf and go for help. But werewolves were immune- practically- to magic. Physical attack was the only way to go about it.

"Fine, then." he said aloud as he felt pine needles brush his cheek as he drifted back into the Forest, followed by the irritable looking wolf. "I'll have to do it that way- hey!"

The wolf had finally lost all patience and had leapt away, heading straight for Hogwarts. Arasar yelled out a few curses about how the wolf's great grandmother was a fleabitten chihuahua and swept after it, hands furiously moving. A giant hand of stone suddenly burst out of the dirt in front of the wolf, and the wolf, too fast to brake, slammed into it.

Arasar expected it to be knocked unconscious, at least. But all it did was shake his head dazedly for a few seconds, bristle its fur and turn around the hand and run, making a beeline for the castle. Arasar made a few loud inappropriate comments and let out another verbal spell.

This time the earth rose and rippled toward the wolf, growing as it went like a carpet that a person had shaken at another end. Like a wave, it tumbled onto the wolf and buried it in half a ton of Hogwart's grounds.

Oops, thought Arasar guiltily. I just ruined a few gardens. But his almost-relief was interrupted by a muffle snarl as the werewolf burst out of his makeshift grave in only two minutes and leapt at Arasar. At least it knew who to blame.

Arasar made a move to rise into the air again and thought better of it. The wolf would just get tired of him and go back to Hogwarts. There was no other option. Yelling at the wolf as loudly as he could- surely someone would hear?- he shook his arm at it, hoping the wind would carry the scent to the wolf, and ran into the Forest.

It worked. The wolf bounded at him and snarled in wild pursuit as they zigzagged into the Forest. Arasar silently thanked whatever lucky star that was watching over him that he was wearing his enchanted boots. They enabled him to run as fast as the wolf, but the wolf had stamina. He had to think of a plan. Fast.

As the stitch in his side grew and its small, stabbing lightning jabs of pain increased in vigor, Arasar stumbled and felt the wolf behind him, crashing through bushes and triumphantly jumping onto his prey.

It was over.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, ready for both possibilities- teeth that would bite him, infect him, but not kill him. Or the other possibillity- extreme pain before he died.

His training didn't cover restraining werewolves. Magic wouldn't help here.

How cleverly Voldemort had woven his plan.

But the expected- a sudden torrent of blood gushing from himself, perhaps, never came. There was only a dull thud, and the air in front of his rippled slightly, brilliant light that penetrated even through his closed eyelids, and a muffled yelp. Maybe someone had head and come to help. He opened his eyes. A golden light- it wasn't golden, but white, gold, blue, red, and purple, but it seemed golden at first glance since the other colors were faint and mingled thinly with the gold- surround him and wove in and out between his arms and whirled around his head. Through it, he could see a dazed wolf whimpering.

The shield-ward. He had completely forgotten about it. It flared once more and disappeared.

He took off his locket and savored the power that ran through his veins before raising one hand. His wand wasn't there, he must have dropped it at some point. How stupid of him. But he didn't think of that. He didn't need his wand for this. Concentrating on the wolf that was slowly regaining consciousness, he let out a spell.

"Argent!"

It wasn't the same spell, though he used the same words. Instead of silver dust, seven silver bars sprang out from both sides of the wolf and clasped on top of it, like two mutant hands growing out of the earth and preventing the wolf from getting out. Two more bars shot out in front of the wolf's head and the wolf's back. The silver bars stood an inch or two above the wolf's fur. The wolf would be burned, horribly, if it moved. It knew it. So did Arasar.

Silver was also one of the substances that wizards had trouble summoning, transfiguring or controlling. That was why werewolves were so dangerous- direct magic didn't work, no one without half the strength of a troll to dream to beat it in a physical fight. It's only weakness was silver and silver alone, and only extremely skilled wizards could mix magic with silver. Silver was extremely resistant to magic, which was why most spells bounced off it. Arasar felt tired by the spell, even through his extra power. Wearily putting it off, he toppled into unconsciousness.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

He was awoken by a shamed sounding cough.

"Erm. Can you let me out of this?"

What am I doing here? Arasar wondered to himself. Fully dressed? Why was there sunshine on his face? He could see it, a red inferno through his eyelids. He always shut his window when he slept.

"Arasar?"

Arasar reluctantly awoke. Professor Lupin was crouched inside the silver dome, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Despite himself, Arasar felt a grin spreading across his face as he looked at his disheveled Professor.

"It isn't funny!" Professor Lupin protested. "I have a cramp. And can you please tell me what the heck is going on?" The Professor was looking slightly apprehensive, as if he were afraid of the explanation.

Arasar let his head drop again with a groan, and tottered up again. It would be easier to get Lupin out of the prison than removing the bars with magic, which would be as hard as attempting to summon silver. That would take a great deal out of Arasar, and Arasar was not keen on that. He wondered how the heck his father and Sirius had managed to control Lupin in their school days. He had to assume Lupin had been a great deal friendlier and lenient to the dog and the stag then to him.

He muttered a spell and Professor Lupin shimmered inside the silver cage and appeared outside of it. He gave a yell of pain as he felt his cramp spread like fire up his thighs.

"How much do you remember?" Arasar said when Lupin had made his cramp go away. He had to learn that spell, Arasar thought as he picked up his limiter locket.

"I was going out for breakfast..." said Lupin, frowing. "I think someone stunned me."

"Wait." said Arasar, eyes widening. "But you taught classes yesterday!"

"And," said Lupin, looking angrier and more bewildered with every passing moment. "That day wasn't even supposed to be a full moon! It was supposed to have passed. Maybe it was someone impersonating me?"

"No." said Arasar. "I felt your lycanthropy, same as ever- if only a bit stronger. It was you."

"Wait." said Lupin sternly, abruptly changing the subject. "Did I attack you?"

"Um." said Arasar, eyeing his own rumpled robes. "You tried to. I evaded your fearsome clutches though, don't worry. Accio wand."

Lupin buried his face in his hands. There was a whistling sound, and there were several crackling sounds as if a flying wooden stick were crashing into branches, and  
Arasar's wand flew into his hand.

"Let's continue this conversation at Hogwarts." he said. "Can we get back? Do you know where we are?"

Arasar avoided Lupin's look and stared at a blackbird instead. "Um. No?"

But they were spared from a long walk by a faint series of barking.

"That's Sirius!" said Arasar. "Saved!"

They could both hear voices as they stumbled toward the noise, avoiding tripping over tree roots and ducking under low-hanging branches as they went.

"_Here_!" they hollered in unison.

Moody spotted them first, with his magical eye.

"There!" he growled, pointing at them.

Dumbledore and Sirius were with him.

"Oh, thank goodness!" said Dumbledore. "As soon as we were informed you were missing, we set out in search for you- with the help of the dog, who happens to have a good nose, and Alastor, of course."

"Nice teamwork." said Arasar. "An eye to see, a nose to smell. Why didn't you bring Professor Trelawney, too?"

"Don't make bad jokes, Potter." said Moody angrily. "Where were you?"

"I need two buttered croissants, some fruit, three pieces of toast and extra large bacon and three sunny-side up eggs before I can talk." said Arasar firmly.

He was as good as his word and kept his mouth firmly shut while Professor Lupin explained away to Dumbledore. Which wasn't much.

"I only remember transforming yesterday night, Professor, which doesn't make sense because I already spent this full moon in my room. I had a dose of Wolfsbane Potion, of course. I was going out for breakfast when I lost consciousness and woke up transforming yet again- this time in the Quidditch field. And then I transformed back and realized I was in a silver cage, with Arasar sleeping a few feet next to me."

"It seems," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "That Mr Potter's side of the story will be most useful. Shall we hurry and provide him with a large meal to open his mouth?"

"If you would be so kind." said Arasar stiffly.

He was dragged along to the Great Hall, where Arasar gorged on five pieces of toast with bacon and eggs and two cups of lemonade. Unluckily for him, there were no croissants so Arasar had to settle for a panful of mushrooms while Lupin, Dumbledore, Sirius and Moody patiently watched him. Or in the cases of Moody, Sirius and Lupin, glared.

"I'm ready." said Arasar finally, wiping his mouth. "But I think I need to go to the gents-"

"No." said Lupin, and Sirius growled. Arasar was dragged off yet again to Lupin's office, which was the nearest.

Dumbledore, Moody and Lupin comfortably seated themselves on a plump couch and Sirius crouched next to Dumbledore, glaring at Arasar. Arasar took the only seat left- a hard wooden one. Reserved for the students, of course. Naturally.

"Now, Mr Potter." said Dumbledore.

"Um." said Arasar. "I was called out for a duel with Udome Orinsen- no, stop lobbing insults at me or your CV warnings, Professor Moody, I thought I could handle it-"

"_Never_ underestimate your opponents!" said Moody angrily.

"I know." said Arasar patiently. "Anyway. Orinsen didn't come out and I was about to go when two people appeared- well, it looked like they apparated, but that isn't possible, is it?- I think one was Orinsen. The other was Professor Lupin, and he was unconscious. Orinsen ran away as soon as he appeared there, and I didn't realize- well, I didn't think of the fact that it was full moon and all, and I was worried about the Professor-"

Lupin turned yellow and moaned slightly.

"You approached me." he said. "You idiot!"

"I know." said Arasar unregretfully. "So you transformed and lunged for my throat and I lured you to the forest. I tried several attacks on you, but none of them worked until I thought to summon silver to bind you."

There was a thoughtful pause after this.

"Are you hurt?" Dumbledore said.

"Of course not." said Arasar. "I'm too used to running. Heaven knows Professor Moody kept me jogging around the castle every morning. By this time, I'm _used_ to running around at night."

Moody gave a chuckle.

"But-" said Lupin. "I don't understand. I know I spent the night in my office. But I also know that I was- er, in the Forest too. It's like I have double memories."

Sirius sniffed the air and barked again and padded toward Arasar. Glaring at him in disapproval again, he gently bit the fabric of Arasar's sleeve and pulled it up. The gash that Lupin had left on his arm was there.

"Oh, that's all right." said Arasar, untroubled. He put his wand at it and healed it. "I'm sure you had much worse injuries in _your_ little adventures."

Sirius let out his throat-rumble again and padded back to Dumbledore.

"But are you _sure_ you aren't hurt?" said Lupin anxiously.

"Nope." said Arasar cheerfully. "Fit as a fiddle."

"Double memories..." said Dumbledore, eyes glinting. "I think I may know what happened."

Arasar saw in his mind's eye It again- glinting on a chain on Hermione Granger's neck- an hourglass necklace with a knob...

A time turner.

"Hermione Granger..." Arasar said in surprise, turning to Dumbledore, whose eyes were glimmering with pride.

"You figured it out." he said, sounding impressed. "Or did Miss Granger tell you?"

Slowly, Arasar shook his head. "I happened to see it." he confessed. "I didn't realize its significance, I must admit."

"She will have noticed by now that it is missing." said Dumbledore. "I think you shall have to go and inform her she did not 'lose' it, Mr Potter."

"If you want." said Arasar, eyes glinting now. "Can you please arrest Orinsen? I'm thinking he's half to blame for this."

Dumbledore nodded, and Arasar went out, followed by Padfoot.

Padfoot waited patiently til they had reached the Gryffindor Tower. When they were securely in their room, Padfoot turned back into a furious Sirius and started yelling at Arasar.

"WHAT THE HECK DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? GOING OUT FOR A DUEL WITH A SLYTHERIN? DON'T YOU KNOW THEY CAN'T BE TRUSTED? IT WAS OBVIOUS THEY HAD SOMETHING UP THEIR SLEEVE- AND WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU COULD DO- YOU WERE LUCKY YOU SURVIVED!"

Arasar tapped the floor with his shoe with a slightly bored expressin on his face that was bound to make Sirius angrier.

"WHY IN THE NAME OF MERLIN DIDN'T YOU CALL FOR HELP?"

"There was a spell around me." said Arasar simply. "No one heard me."

"THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU RUN BACK TO HOGWARTS FOR HELP?"

"And risk letting other students die?" said Arasar cuttingly. "Not a chance. Besides, if there WAS anyone who could face a werewolf- I mean, come on, Sirius, werewolves are resistant to magic and are superstrong and really fast, and it's really hard to deal with them. You, as an Animagus, could have stalled, but not stopped him. My father might have had a chance, as a large animal- but a dog? Against a werewolf?"

"So you decided to go one on one with it?"

"The 'it' as you call him," said Arasar, "Is Professor Lupin. Yes. In all honesty, I had a fair chance with him. The only reason I didn't escape- yes, Sirius, I could have, if that's what you're asking- is because the obvious destination the werewolf might have headed for his Hogwarts."

"So you decided to keep it occupied for the whole night?"

"No." said Arasar witheringly. "I managed, as you saw, to find a way to keep it down while I slumbered peacefully."

"Yes." said Sirius. His voice had died down to a deadly cold tone. "Have you ANY experience in summoning silver?"

"My first time." Arasar admitted.

Sirius stared at him, face going white.

"Arasar." he said, unnaturally quietly. "There is a _reason_ why a werewolf is classifed as a five X magical creature. As you put it, they are resistant to magic and are superstrong and really fast. The only thing that can deal with them is probably another werewolf- which isn't bloody likely- and a trained GROUP of Aurors or a team of the WCU, and silver."

"So?"

"Silver," said Sirius, voice rising again, "is an exceptionately hard substance to summon-"

"I know that-"

"And to do _anything_ with silver," said Sirius, cutting through Arasar's protests, "You need _extensive_ training to learn how to let the silver not drain your power. Inexperienced people have tried to summon it and have _died_, because they didn't know how to handle it!"

"Oh." said Arasar, wincing. He remembered how exhausted he had felt- even without the limiter- after he had summoned silver. He had not realized it then, but without the extra power, he would have most probably died. Though it was best not to let Sirius know that. "I was lucky, then."

"What I'm trying to say, is," said Sirius with extraordinary patience. "Try to keep out of trouble, Harry! First you simply stroll into a courtroom and get me free- yes, I admit I was grateful, but that was _risky_, for goodness's sake! If it hadn't been for your status, they might have held trial for _you_ on charges of bursting into a courtroom without invitation. Then you almost die. What possessed you to ride a transfigured broom, anyway? Don't you know that the charm could have worn of any _second_?"

Arasar didn't bother to correct Sirius. Everyone seemed to be calling him 'Harry' or 'Potter' or 'Harry Potter' anyway. It was time he got used to it.

"Um." said Arasar. "It was a permanent charm?"

"And then," said Sirius, glaring at Arasar, "You decide to fight a werewolf. You risked your life. You almost died."

"Not quite." Arasar muttered under his breath. "I'll try to keep out of trouble." he said in a louder tone, sounding almost sincere.

"Good!" said Sirius and turned back into a dog again, and turned his back to Arasar to express his displeasure with him. Arasar took one look at Sirius's disapproving rump, and fought laughter.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

So!

That was what happened.

Chapter 29: End of the Third Year

Sorry for not updating for so long.

AN: After a strenous self-analyzation that took some five seconds, I realized that the reason I slowly trail off on most of my stories is because, in about the middle of it, I realize how disgusting and stupid the story is and I lose enthusiasm and my writing starts going downhill. The same thing is happening to this one. You can cheer me up by reviewing, I think. But this time, unlike my previous fics, I have a vaguely firm plot plan in my head so... it might turn out well enough. Updates will be slower. Cheers.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar found out entirely by accident that Lupin was going to resign, from the conversation of two chatting Ravenclaws.

"WHAT?" he thundered when he found out and leapt up and skidded around the marble floor as he violently veered to go round corners and leapt up stairs three at a time. When he finally arrived in front of Lupin's office, he was out of breath and panting, but he still had energy enough to hammer furiously at the door.

"Yes?" said a voice inside. The door clicked open and Lupin stared, quite surprised, at Arasar out of breath, grasping his knees for support and glaring at him.

"Er." he said. "Would you come inside?"

Arasar put on his most imperious look as he turned on Lupin, pinning him with a steely gaze.

"Is it true that you're resigning?" he said.

Lupin shrugged.

"It is." he said.

"But you _can't_!" said Arasar despairingly. "I heard all about the former teacher _and_ the one before that, and you're the only good one we've had in _ages_-"

"How do you know all that?" said Lupin, sounding perturbed.

"Dumbledore told me." said Arasar quickly. "Yes, and you're going to resign? What's the reason?"

Lupin stared at him incredulously.

"You're asking me what is the _reason_? Arasar, I nearly killed you!"

"I could have gotten away anytime!" protested Arasar. This wasn't true- he would have been dead or furry if it hadn't been for those trusty wards he had more or less forgotten about. "I was only slightly inconvenienced!"

"There are dangerous animals in the Forest!" said Lupin angrily. "It was a close call, Arasar! Any of them could have smelled you and come to check you out!"

Arasar blinked, stunned for the moment. He hadn't really thought of that. Perhaps the wards had kept them away- more the reason to have them around him.

"No they didn't." he said firmly. "I have defences around myself."

"My point being," said Lupin, "That I am undeniably a threat to you and the school, though I try not to be. If there is an incident like this again- which is likely- I can be used against you, don't you understand?"

"So, you're resigning so we can get a mad harpy for a teacher next year." muttered Arasar. "You could just stay to prove the jinx on the job isn't real." he added, hoping this would appeal to Professor Lupin's Marauder side.

That side was on Sabbatical at the moment. Lupin just resolutely shook his head. "No, you won't get me that way." he said. "Arasar, I'm resigning and that's it."

Arasar clicked his teeth once and sighed. Lupin had made up his mind. No stopping him now, he supposed.

"Can you give me your address so I can send Sirius along sometimes?" he said. He could drop in every day and pester him to take the job until he gave in.

Lupin's face turned uncomfortable.

"I move a lot." he said.

"Hmm." said Arasar.

"You can reach me by owl, I suppose." said Lupin.

"I'll do that, then." said Arasar, sighing, and left without saying anything else.

He knew a lost cause when he saw one.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

He told the Founders about the full moon incident that night. Row was perturbed at the thought of people that turned into wolves on the full moon.

"Obviously," she wrote to Arasar, "It must have something to do with the lunar influence- but for the life of me I don't know _how_."

Helga was undisturbed by the intellectual quandary and told Arasar to train harder than ever and be _careful_. Azar told him to have good weapons around and Drick said that people died anyway- why shouldn't it be sooner? But after a smack from Helga and Row, both of them, Drick just gave Arasar advice to stay in hiding.

"You have no real way of knowing in that stupid Prophecy is real anyway." he told Arasar. "No use in risking your life on something you aren't sure about."

"Anyway." said Row after giving the males a firm lecture that Arasar was half glad, half regretful that he didn't hear. "Arasar, try not to die. And be careful. aye?"

"Sure." said Arasar unenthusiastically. "I'll try not to die."

"Anyway, if the Ever After exists, you'll see us all anyway." said Row.

"That's true." said Arasar. "But I do feel horribly guilty- Lupin's going to resign because of this."

"Not your fault." said Azar.

"It really isn't, you know, Arasar." said Helga. "There was nothing you could have done other than... what you did."

"He was really a good teacher." continued Arasar ruthlessly, plowing into full self-deprecation mode. "If it weren't for me..."

"If it weren't for whoever bit him, if it weren't for Orinsen, if it weren't for Voldemort, if it weren't for Voldemort's parents, or..."

"Fine, I get the point. I won't blame myself."

"Good."

Arasar shut the book after bidding them farewell and pushed open the curtains and poked his face out, breathing the fresh air. It was a half-clouded night, but he could see the half moon that would wane and wane and wax and wax- an endless cycle...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The teachers made a half-hearted attempt to teach them _something_ before the vacations, but the students ignored their feeble efforts and chatted through the classes, playing Exploding Snape behind teacher's backs (in the cases of Fred and George). Exploding Snape was a new game they had come up with- it was a game that Ron enjoyed through. It involved stacking statues of Snapes until they exploded. It was more elegant, really- Fred and George designed it so that the greasy hair caught fire first and it spread down to his rump most spectacularly. Sirius approved of this game and confided to Arasar later that it was character-building stuff, that.

Arasar was still troubled by Voldemort's newest assassination attempt. He had nearly died. He could have escaped, yes- but he would have died if it hadn't been for those wards.

He needed more protection.

That realization disturbed him. Another connected realization, that he would die if he wasn't careful, disturbed him even more. He couldn't imagine anything beyond death. Life was all he knew. What lay beyond? What potential in him would be crushed if he died? And worse- what would happen to the world if he didn't kill Voldemort? Were prophecies accurate? Some said so, some said not. He couldn't even know if it was indeed his destiny to kill or be killed by Voldemort...

If I need protection, said Arasar. I'm going to have it. I'm going to become an Animagus.

Padfoot had been fairly grumpy and when he had heard that Lupin was going to resign. The school atmostphere was definitely more subded since everyone knew now that Professor Remus Lupin- their favorite teacher by so far, despite the fact that he kept being ill and they got_ Snape_ as a substitute- that was very unfortunate for both parties- was resigning. And no student except Arasar, who didn't let on that he knew anything about it, knew why.

Dumbledore must have also managed to make some kind of deal with Fudge. Orinsen was put in Azkaban and there wasn't a single word in the newspapers. There was a noticeable absence of the Alpha and Beta of the Slytherins, and they were more quiet, to the other Houses' relief...

Arasar also had to pack his trunk, and spent hours wondering if a possession had escaped his attention. By the time he was really sure that clothes, books, quills, inkpots, Cloak, and his leatherbound book that he used to communicate with the Founders were in his trunk, he finally shut the clasps with a decisive snap and waited for the term to end.

He also had to face the fact that he no longer could use school owls to send messages to anyone. He gloomily decided to pop in to Diagon Alley as soon as he could.

He was planning to approach his idea about becoming an Animagus to Padfoot very slowly and carefully. Sirius was bound to shout that it was _dangerous_- never mind he'd done it himself when he was about Arasar's age, but Arasar was sure that with the right mixture of flattery, hypocrisy, those-cute-green-eyes treatment and the little-boy-who-needs-protection-badly cards, he could managed to convince Sirius.

He also tried not to think about the fact that he'd played a big part in ruining the lives of Aldosov and Orinsen.

The ride back to Platform 9 and 3/4 was long and pointless. Arasar was panicked at the last moment and dashed back into the castle for 'Eldest', the book he had just remembered he had left under the bed, and consequentially almost missed the train. After fifteen desperate minutes of looking into compartments and seeing if there was anyone he could sit with

(Giggly girls- cross out. Slytherins- cross out. Ravenclaws- don't want to get into intellectual arguments, too smart for my liking- cross out. Younger kids- they gape too much and I can't carry on an intelligent conversation with them- cross out. Older kids- snobby. Cross out.)

He finally found a compartment containing no one. After dumping his bag on a seat and lying down in another one, he double-locked his door and pulled down the shades and slept.

The train arrived sooner than he would have believed possible. Dazedly rubbing his eyes and faintly wondering why the HECK it took seven hours to get from Platform 9 and 3/4 to Hogwarts but took about two hours when vice versa, he dragged his bag as he stepped out of the train and decided it must be because Dumbledore wanted to give the first years time to get to know each other... forging alliegancies... and enmities, of course...

Padfoot was with Ron. The three dived through the crowd to meet each other and Padfoot gave a relieved bark as Ron and Arasar said 'Where WERE you?"

"I was sleeping in an empty compartment." said Arasar.

"Figures." said Ron. "Everyone was worried about you."

"Everyone?" said Arasar, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well, me and Neville." said Ron. "Padfoot too, almost. I could swear he can tell what's going on."

Padfoot gave an indignant growl at the redhead that was undermining his intelligence.

"Well." said Arasar hastily before Padfoot could bite anyone. "I'm going, now."

"Do you have a place to go?" said Ron bluntly.

"Yes." said Arasar. "My parents left me a place."

"Bye, then." said Ron. "See you."

Arasar waved back and set out to catch a taxi or something. Padfoot trotted behind him, his sheer black mass scaring most away. He saw Neville being berated by a ferocious looking woman as he passed, and Cedric Diggory chatting animatedly to his girlfriend before promising to write during the holidays. Wondering if all the students took the train, he sat down on a bench near the entrance of the station and wondered whether to Apparate or take another mode of transportation.

After consulting the letter his mother had left him, he decided to take the train. Disguising himself as his blond, ragged, muggle-clothed counterpart, he cheerfully paid for his ticket and stared at the ceiling for the rest of the journey. The Hogwarts Express must have been enchanted not to make people queasy. Here, Arasar felt like there was an extra slip of layer between his brain and brow, and his stomach lurched unpleasantly when the train stopped.

Sirius noticed and whined at Arasar sympathetically. Arasar absently stroked Sirius between his ears.

Arasar got off thankfully, a few hours later, at Bristol and gave the address to a taxi driver who apparently knew the village that was next to the mountain. Arasar said yes, and the taxi zoomed off.

He must have fallen asleep, for he was aware of the driver shaking his shoulder gently.

After handing the man money and generously telling him to keep the change, Arasar got off the taxi with Sirius serenely following again.

"Wards." said Arasar as soon as he looked at the mountain. "But I can apparate in." he bent his shoulders and wrapped one arm around Sirius's neck. Concentrating on the mountaintop and trying to picture the lily garden in his mind's eye, detail for detail, he transported them there.

He misjudged a little and ended up in the pond. They both appeared a few feet above in and with a giant _splash _got spectacularly wet. Fortunately, Arasar's bag had waterproof wards on it. But Sirius's fur and Arasar's clothes were not, and they both got dripping wet.

Arasar clambered out of the pond and threw the plant root that had somehow draped itself around his neck back into the pond and dried himself. Sirius came out at that moment and shook himself, spraying himself and the nearest two windows in water.

Sirius turned back into human and looked at Arasar innocently.

"You got me wet, I got you wet." he said, quite fairly. "We're even."

Arasar couldn't argue with this and concentrated on getting them both dry again.

They went into Weed House. Sirius looked in bored admiration at the lilies draping the cottage roof and the ivy that artfully crept up the walls but mysteriously avoided the windows. Arasar pushed open the door and stopped for a second, concentrating again. A few seconds later, the wards shifted. From then on, Sirius was allowed into Weed House.

"You take any guest room you want." Arasar said.

"And you?"

Arasar shrugged.

"I'll take one too." he said. "What do you want for dinner?"

Sirius's face lit up at the mention of that. Arasar fished out a bag labeled _Delicious Desserts for Doggies_ and waved it enticingly below Sirius's nose.

"Don't make bad jokes." said Sirius. "Are we going down for supper?"

Arasar checked his watch. Four o clock. They had also missed lunch.

"Yup."

They apparated down again. Sirius's long hair drew looks, as did his thin, pale face and distinctly doglike smell, but no one said anything.

Sirius gorged himself on pasta and meat. Arasar ate almost as much but restrained himself when it came to desert and watched Sirius gobble up his chocolate sauce over cream covered strawberry&raspberry and chocolate on a hardened waffle cone ice cream with revulsed fascination.

"Are you done?" inquired Arasar as Sirius gave a satisfied sigh and grinned at the ceiling. His face turned contented, and Arasar caught a glimpse of what he had been twelve years ago.

"Yes." said Sirius, leaping up.

Arasar finally asked Sirius about the process of becoming an Animagus while they took a walk to appease their aching stomachs.

"First you have to brew a lot of potions and stuff them down your throat." said Sirius. "You wouldn't happen to be a genius at Potions, by any chance?"

Arasar shuddered.

"I'm okay." he said dubiously. "I suppose."

"We- your father and I and you-know-who managed it by trial and error." confessed Sirius. "I might not be much help here."

"Did Professor Lupin do it with you too?" asked Arasar in some interest, fighting laughter over the image of his father and Sirius and Voldemort hunched over a bubbling cauldron belching purple steam.

"Sometimes, sometimes not." said Sirius. "We didn't want him to feel left out so we included him sometimes."

"Huh." said Arasar. "And?"

"Spells." said Sirius. "Lots and lots of spells you have to put on yourself as precautionary measures. James and I wanted to skip most of the unnecessary sounding ones, but Remus insisted."

"As expected." said Arasar.

"And the last step is meditation." said Sirius. "Though there are potions to help you along the way. You have a lot to do."

Arasar sighed gloomily.

"Do you have any good books on Animagi transformation?"

"I have 'A History and Theory of Animagi." said Arasar, thinking about it. "I haven't read it yet."

But Sirius was shaking his head.

"No good." he said. "You need 'The Animal Within' or 'The Trusty Guide to Animagus Transformation', the two really reliable books. Is there a good wizarding bookstore 'round here?"

"No idea." said Arasar. "I suppose we'll have to take another trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow. I need an owl, too."

"Sure." said Sirius, swaying slightly.

Arasar took the hint and grabbed hold of Sirius's arm and apparated back to Weed House.

He got it right this time. They landed in the living room, and they bid each other a good night before retreating to their respective rooms. Arasar shook his bag, making everything tumble out, and undid the shrinking charm on his bookshelf and wardrobe and desk. After a few flicks with his wand, everything was where he wanted them to be. Relaxing at last, he fell asleep.

Chapter 30: Finding Out

Warning: Extreme cliffie.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The penalties of eating so much and going to sleep so soon, in his jeans and jacket over his T-shirt, no less, took its toll in five in the morning. Arasar woke up with his jacket sleeve buttons imprinted on his cheek because he had used his hand as a pillow while he slept with a desperate urge to go to the bathroom.

He yawned as he splashed water onto his face and went out to the garden and sat down on the bench, contemplating the rising sun. It was rising early since it was summer, and the clouds framed only the edges of the world. Not a single wisp was overhead.

Arasar yawned again. The village below looked like a small model- or a particularly sophisticated doll house. He could see every road, the small ones looking like string and the big ones like worms, and the trees looked like large grass. Houses were arrange in neat, orderly squares or rounded in half or three quarter circles. Things he would never notice if he were down there, not observing up here.

He sighed and got up. If he wanted to stay in shape, he had to jog. Especially after that huge meal.

The mountain turned out to be perfect. The trees overhead were enough to shield him from hated sunlight in noon but let enough light to see in in the dark. The ups and downs were gentle and blunt, and Arasar got quite cheerful as he ran down to the edges of the village and up again, cutting through trees and taking a nonexistent path to get back to Weed House.

Sirius was up by the time he got back, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Good." he said when Arasar blocked the sunlight by standing in the doorway, sweat trickling down his face. "I was getting worried."

"I'm going to Diagon Alley today." said Arasar. "What were the books you wanted me to get?"

"The Animal Within and The Trusty Guide to Animagus Tranformation." said Sirius. "Either will do. Are you sure you can go alone?"

Arasar twisted his face into a grimacing pout.

"Please." he said.

"Fine, fine." said Sirius, waving his coffee and spilling some on his lap. "Ouch! Well, make sure not to get into a fight with any vampires or something."

"New idea." said Arasar.

"And what am I supposed to do while you're away?" Sirius said plaintively.

"I don't know." said Arasar. "What do you usually do?"

"Besides shivering in front of Dementors, you mean?" said Sirius. Arasar gave him a sharp look. "Um- in my school days and after that I rode my flying motorcycle and scared muggles and played pranks and chased girls."

"Oh." said Arasar, making a face. None of those things he enjoyed. "And? Nothing else?"

"Er." said Sirius. "The others usually involved pestering other people. No."

"I think there's a theater down in the village." said Arasar dubiously. "Do you like movies?"

Sirius just looked at him blankly.

Arasar sighed in exasperation. "Never mind. I'll show you when I come back. Any... er, never mind. Want to go down and get a haircut?"

"Sure." said Sirius unenthusiastically. "I wonder where my motorcycle is..." he said thoughtfully as Arasar went to his room to get money and other things.

Arasar wondered what Sirius really WOULD do as he Apparated away. He kept his mind on that to prevent himself from getting sick from the feeling of Apparation. Sirius wasn't really suited to living with Arasar, but Arasar knew that Sirius would say that Arasar needed taking care of, though it was more like the other way around- because Arasar knew he could take care of himself.

Well, most probably, anyway.

"He'll probably be rigging something up when I get home." said Arasar as he stepped into Diagon Alley. "Something designed to bring two pounds of paint crashing over my head, no doubt. Ah, well."

He went to Flourish and Blotts first. 'The Trusty Guide to Animagus Transformation' wasn't there, but 'The Animal Within' was. Arasar paid for it, pushed it into his bag and went into the petshop.

And stepped into a wild mixture of cackles, hoots, barks, mews, honks and shouting. He winced and blocked out the noise with some trouble.

He took a look at the owls first, ignoring the beseeching looks that other animals gave him. There were two brown puppies with white splotched on them in particular that Arasar had to resist hard to ignore.

The owls. At least forty of them. Small, big, medium, dark colored, light colored, spotted, striped, multicolored, awake, sleeping, pooping, hooting- well, you get the idea.  
Arasar dismissed the small ones at once. They looked flimsy. He eliminated the multicolored ones- cute, but they would attract too much attention.  
After twelve more minutes of pacing around, avoiding the flying missiles of small white poop, he narrowed it down to three owls.

One was pure white and was sleeping. The other was a regular brown owl that had a sharp, intelligent look about it, and the third was completely black and had fierce yellow eyes that followed his every move.

After pondering, he didn't take the white owl. The black one was certainly magnificent enough- they were both very clever, he could tell.

"Which one's faster?" he asked the shopkeeper.

"Eh?" said he. "Those two? Clever choice, lad. They're both bright. It's the brown one that's faster and the black one that's more reliable. Bred not to have his letters confiscated, y' see."

"I'll take the black one." said Arasar immediately.

"That'll be ten Galleons." grunted the shopkeeper.

Arasar counted out the money and the black one obligingly fluttered down and sat on his shoulder, digging his sharp claws into his skin.

"He'll do his own hunting." said the shopkeeper as he took the money. "Good luck, lad."

Arasar nodded politely and went out.

He took a walk around Diagon Alley and bought himself an ice cream, wondering what to call his owl.

"Nightwing?" he said, grinning, and he took another bite out of his boysenberry cream. "Hmm. Hermes? Oh- nah, that's Percy's owl."

He munched on the cone, swinging his bag with the book inside.

"Drick?" he wondered aloud. "Now, that'll really be a blast. I wish I could see his face when he hears, though. I can add that you're much better looking than him..."

He still hadn't decided when he came back to Weed House.

He was right. As soon as he entered, something creaked and fell on him. But it didn't hurt very much.

The owl had taken most of the blast.

"Umm... oops?"

The owl's head turned, with a glint in its eye reminiscent to that of Professor McGonagall about to scold a second year that had yanked her tail, and glared murder at Sirius. Pink, blue and puce paint trickled down its crest and dripped down his feathers.

And then it charged.

Arasar contently washed off the paint that had gotten over him and sat down on the couch, savouring the screeches and yells of a man being pecked in his behind all around the house. A few seconds later, the yells became yelps of a dog having its fur torn off, and two minutes later, the owl came back into the room, fluttering his wings smugly. Sirius followed, looking worn.

"What have you bought for a monster?" Sirius said to Arasar desperately. "Look at what it did to my hair!"

Arasar fought a smile and gravely stroked his owl's ruffled feathers.

"Starless." said Arasar thoughtfully as he banished the paint on the owl. "That's a good name."

"Eh?" said Sirius.

"Starless." said Arasar. "As in 'Starless night'."

"If you ask me, it's a girly name." said Sirius. The owl turned to him, a glint in his yellow eyes. "Fitting, though." he added frantically. "Very appropriate."

Arasar surpressed a smile.

Dinner was a subdued affair. They went to another restaurant in the village. Since they both remembered the enormous bellyache they'd had last night, they refrained from eating too much. After that, they went shopping and bought lots of bread and six jars of blackberry jam (Sirius's favorite) and butter, and some cooking equipment, because Arasar had discovered a small kitchen behind his guest room that he hadn't found in his first exploration of the house.

It was only two hours before the sun set that Sirius mentioned Arasar's newest obsession.

"Right." said Sirius. "Animagi."

"Animagi." repeated Arasar almost tonelessly.

"These," said Sirius, holding up a roll of parchment, "Are the spells you have to put on yourself for safety reasons and blah blah. And these," he held up another roll of parchment, "Are the potions you have to brew."

"And drink?" Arasar asked, appalled, as Sirius let go of the tip of the parchment and it rolled down, revealing a list of at least twenty potions.

"No, no!" said Sirius reassuringly. "This-" he jabbed at the first potion- "Is the one you use to reveal your Animagus form. The others are meant to make sure that you don't stay trapped in your form forever, and some of them are to make sure your Animagus form functions reasonably. Instincts and so forth. You skip them if you don't want heightened smell and hearing and other stuff, but they come in handy."

"I'm sure they do." said Arasar. "Are you sure those spells are essential?"

"Um." said Sirius, peering down at them. "About two thirds of them are counterparts of most of the potions here, and well- one or two I added, they're for you to make sure that you don't have the limitations Animagi usually have-"

"Limitations?" said Arasar sharply.

Sirius shrugged. "I mean, for instance McGonagall put a spell on herself to keep herself from getting hairballs."

Arasar went green.

"And you know there are diseases only specific animals get." continued Sirius. "If you get them while you're in the animal form you might still have them when you turn human."

"Ah." said Arasar. "That makes sense. I never thought of that."

"Right." said Sirius. "I'm thinking that you'll get to be one in a year or so because you can buy the ingredients, not sneak them from Slughorn's secret cupboard like we did, and I remember how to cast most of these spells."

"Oh." said Arasar. It was better than he would have expected. "I thought- well from what I know from you and Professor Lupin, I expected it to be a lot harder."

"It is hard." said Sirius. "The last step is meditating. There aren't any potions that you drink that make you transform. You have to do it by yourself. That's what took us so long..."

Arasar blinked and grimaced.

"Ah." he said.

"Anyway." said Sirius. "The first step is the potion that makes you see your Animagus form..."

That particular potion was easy. Without Snape breathing behind him and casting his Evil Eye on his potion, Arasar was transported a thousand years into the past, where he could just sit there and concentrate on his potion- the changing of the colors with just a stir or an added ingredient... the satisfaction of seeing the potion being just right.

And in no time, it was over.

"What do I do with this?" Arasar asked Sirius, holding the vial of potion as if it might explode.

"Pour it over a mirror or ice." said Sirius. "Ice works better, since the potion burns through whatever it touches if it has contact with it long enough. No use in damaging your one true love, aye?"

Arasar decided to ignore him and went out to the pond to freeze it.

"Nice." said Sirius impressedly as he followed him out to see the pond becoming solid, starting from where Arasar's wand had pointed at. "Not even a strand of white."

It was true that the pond was extremely clear ice, the kind that hadn't any white in it at all. Pondweed stretched out from the edges to the center, frozen tendrils of murky green. Several petals of the lilies that were in bloom all around them had fallen into it and were artfully scattered around the pond. At the bottom, Arasar could see, as if there weren't any ice seperating it from it at all, some pebbles and rocks, along with motionless sand.

He uncorked the vial and spread it over the ice.

Sirius watched expectantly as the bluish potion, as if it were alive, actively spread evenly over the ice. Arasar bent over the pond expectantly.

"Well, do you see it?" said Sirius.

"Yes." said Arasar, staring into the pond. "I do."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Hehe. Ahahahaha. Muahahahahahaha!

Wondering what the animal is? I'll update if you review. Yes, I know some of you will be complaining about how it's rude to demand reviews, but I'm feeling like you need a push in the right direction- yes, I mean that purplish blue button...

Chapter 31: The Triwizard Tournament

I have people calling me trained geese, evil, sadistic, mean- and what's wrong with blackberry jam? It's my favourite! Do trained geese eat blackberry? I wonder...

Ah, never mind. And I know my writing's going downhill... Yes, remember I had writer's block about here- the next few chapters are going to be a bit flat and meandering, but it'll pick up on about- 38 or so. Yeah.

_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_

"Sirius, am I right when I say it's very uncommon to have more than one Animagus form?"

"Extremely rare." said Sirius. "But there have been cases."

"And it's also very rare to have a magical Animagus form?"

"Likewise."

"Ah." said Arasar, a tight grin spreading across his face. "I seem to be extremely unusual, aye?"

"What's wrong?" said Sirius, bolting up from the bench.

"It seems that I... have three Animagus forms. And one of them are magical." said Arasar.

"_What_?" said Sirius, mouth hanging open.

"Look." said Arasar, nodding at the pond.

"I won't see anything." said Sirius. "Except a black dog. You'll have to tell me."

"One of them is a dolphin." said Arasar. "I guess that represents my water element. One of them is a black panther- that's shadow and earth, I suppose..."

"What the heck are you talking about?" said Sirius. "Elements?"

"And the other one is..." said Arasar. "The one that represents fire and air..."

"Well?"

"It's a Phoenix."

There was a silence.

Sirius shook his head.

"You- this isn't true." said Sirius. "It's simply not possible!"

"Why not?" said Arasar. "According to you, there are magical Animagi and multiple Animagi. Why not both at once?"

Sirius was still shaking his head. His eyes were wide and blank. "I've never heard of such a thing..."

"Look." said Arasar, sounding fed up. "It's like saying to the first Animagus that there is no such thing because it's never been done before! What of it? I'm the first one! So what? Just because it's not been recorded before doesn't mean it's not possible!"

"You're right." said Sirius, sounding weary. "It's possible. But- I can't seem to get my mind around it, that's all."

"So." said Arasar brightly. "What's the next step?"

The next step, after Sirius accepted the fact that he was a multiple Animagus _and_ a magical one, was to put all those spells on him and brew all those potions.

Easier said than done.

It took a week to get half of the spells on him, and by that time Arasar had only managed to brew only five of the twenty three potions he needed. He sent Starless with a letter to Professor Lupin, asking him to help him in his quest. Lupin arrived the next day and exchanged pleasantries with both of them before blowing up when he heard that Arasar had decided to become an Animagus. He seemed to think at first that it had been Sirius's idea to put Arasar through 'even more danger, especially with YOUR slapdash way of doing everything'.

He gave up trying to dissuade Arasar when Arasar told him that on no accounts he was going to give up. Then he had a similar reaction to Sirius's when he heard about Arasar's Animagus forms. After another long talk, he started examining the scrolls in a businesslike, if reluctant manner.

"Sirius!" he said reprovingly after reading through them. "I see you've deliberately skipped some spells..."

Arasar raised an eyebrow as Sirius shrugged and tried not to go pink.

"Those aren't needed." he said. "James and I went well without them."

"I suppose." admitted Lupin. "I can do some of these- the ones you've crossed out you've already done?"

"Yes." said Arasar.

"Right." said Lupin.

And without more ado, Lupin solved most of Arasar's problem by whipping out his wand and performing seven spells on him, before admitting that he'd forgotten how to do the rest. Arasar said that he'd figure out how to do it on his own, and Lupin and Sirius went out and down to the village for a walk.

He started to wonder why Dumbledore hadn't become an Animagus as well as he tried a spell that hadn't been done yet on the fireplace. Apparently it was supposed to be a vibrant hue of blue, but it kept coming out purple.

It seemed to him the obvious thing to do if he were someone like Dumbledore, with a lot of knowledge, respected, powerful- targeted by Voldemort was another motivater, too. Being an Animagus would come in handy.

He stopped trying to make sense of it when the spell finally came out right and the ashes didn't move when it hit them.

Arasar tried it one more time on the fireplace to make sure he'd gotten the hang of it and did it on himself.

When Lupin and Sirius came back an hour later, there were only nine spells left.

"Impressive." said Lupin. "At this rate, you'll manage it in a year."

"Why not a month?" said Arasar. "Meditation doesn't sound- well, _too_ hard."

"It is hard." said Lupin. "Since there is no way to describe how to do it, and therefore no one has put it down in a book. You find your form and slip into it. That took your father and Sirius one and half years. And they were geniuses."

"Oh." said Arasar. "I'll have to do my forms one at a time?"

"That's right." said Lupin. "Not so easy, eh?"

Arasar grimaced.

"Good night." he grunted and retired to his room, though it was only eight. He spent the time reading his book and fell asleep, dreaming of another world where magic was different...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

He reached the 'meditation stage' about two weeks before the start of fourth year. He had managed to brew all of the potions with Lupin's help and had managed to down the ones that needed to be drunken. Most of them tasted foul. The spells Sirius remembered in time and had put on him.

And only the last stage remained.

Warning Sirius not to disturb him, he had disappeared into the forest to meditate. He had decided, wisely, to try to become the Phoenix last. He was going to try the black panther when he discovered a large lake on the other side of the mountain.

And then, his mind was made.

With a joyous whoop he ran back up the mountain and shed his cloak, ran forward, full-speed, and dived into the lake.

He almost forgot about meditation and lost himself in letting out all his breath and going down, down, away from the light and air. There was the Bubble-head charm, but he felt like normal mugglish swimming. After ten more seconds, he had enough and resurface, pushing the hair out of his face so he could gasp for breath.

He then breathed deeply, rhythmically and tried to think of what it was to be a dolphin. He knew about them and their habits, their appearance and how exactly every body part functioned- he had done some research, but he knew it wouldn't be that simple. Sirius had said that knowing about them was useful, but it was important not to concentrate too deeply on how they worked. He had said that he had to know how to be one, not just know. But he hadn't been able to give Arasar any more information than that.

But Arasar felt his concentration waning, and his memory returned to what he had seen in the frozen pond...

He had seen himself at first, looking back at himself with intense green eyes. Then the reflection had blurred, until the background behind him wasn't darkening sky, but land, with a lake besides it. Then he had an abrupt feeling that the lake was zooming toward him, but then common sense reasserted itself and he had realized that the picture was getting farther away, until it was not his face framed by the background but himself standing in front of the lake.

And then- he had changed.

He had first become a black panther, sleek, with yellow-green eyes and a slight zigzagging scar started between his ears and stopping a few inches above his eyes. Feline muscles rippled beneath silky black fur as it ran once around the lake before transforming again- this time into a phoenix, a large white and silver one with an enormous wingspan that seemed to block the sky from his view, with the same scar, but smaller to fit into the avian head, and it had soared to above the middle of the lake before transforming into a dolphin and plunging into the lake.

And the scene had repeated itself before Arasar had broken contact and had told Sirius.

He felt himself drifting back into the lake as he sighed. He took a deep breath to float again and concentrated.

A dolphin...

He tried to imagine what it was to be one until it grew too cold and he came out of the lake, shivering and dripping water behind him. He hadn't brought his wand so he had to dry himself wandlessly, and he was forced to alternate between running to get warm and walking when he realized it was futile. He was in a sorry state when he came back to Weed House.

Sirius smothered laughter at his scowl and his hair, which had smoothed out because of the water and was hanging straight this time, down to his shoulders. His hair seemed to be resistant to magic, as Arasar told Sirius later as he came out of the bath.

"Yeah, we figured that out when the Slytherins tried to turn him green and silver but his hair stayed the same." said Sirius. "Bloody useful it was."

"Hah." said Arasar.

He went out at dawn the next day and jogged before spending time in the water for four hours before coming back for lunch.

"You don't have to concentrate on it so hard." said Sirius. "James and I only did it in our spare time."

"So that might explain those eighteen months you took." said Arasar.

"It might." admitted Sirius. "But don't catch a cold!" he shouted after him as Arasar went out again. "You know it's one of the few things that magic can't heal!"

He took breaks by swimming and forgetting about meditation. He once put a bubble-head charm and an anti-pressure charm on himself before diving to the bottom of the lake. It was deep. Very deep, and he had some dull conversation with the fish there. To his disappointment, there weren't any animals... less tame.

But to his frustration, he didn't seem to be making any progress. The closest he had got to getting it was a slightest trembling he had felt, and for a moment he had felt completely different- but the moment had gone when he realized how close he had gotten, and it was too late to pursue the feeling and try to do it again.

However, Sirius had said that he was getting close. He had definitely sounded impressed when he had complimented him, and Arasar, heartened by this, concentrated even more.  
But he still didn't manage it when the time came for him to pack and head back to Hogwarts.

Sirius, though, this time had decided to stay at Weed House. He had gotten a job at the village and promised to visit Arasar on the weekends. Arasar had also introduced movies to him, and Sirius was hooked,

"It's a fact that there aren't any theaters at Hogwarts." said he. "So it stands that I'm staying here."

Arasar was determined, though, to add meditating in the Lake in his early morning activities.

He boarded the train, waving good bye to the black dog who had come with him to see him off.

He managed to find Neville talking to Hermione in the far compartment at the end of the train.

"Can I sit here?" he said, nodding at the empty seats.

"Sure." said Neville. "Arasar, this is Luna Lovegood."

Arasar turned to greet an occupant of the compartment he hadn't noticed at first. She had darkish blonde hair and was reading a magazine.

"Hello." said Arasar.

"Hello." said Luna, not taking her eyes off the magazine.

Arasar sat down next to the window, putting his bag besides him.

"I heard from my gran that there's something going on at Hogwarts this year." said Neville absently, prodding at his mimbulus mimbletonia. "She was awfully discreet about it, though..."

"Hmm." said Arasar. "If it interferes with Quidditch..."

"I'm sure it won't." said Hermione. "With half of the school population being obsessed with the sport and all that."

"You mean that Dumbledore doesn't want any Quidditch-lovers flaming him." said Arasar musingly. "Yes, I suppose. But only half?"

"I was talking about the boys." said Hermione Granger.

"Statistically," said Arasar thoughtfully, "This year the male population of the school outweighs the female part by... about four to three, or so."

"How did YOU know that?" demanded Hermione.

"The gimple-nosed higswatch told him." said Luna absently.

Neville cleared his throat and looked out of the window. Hermione looked at the ceiling and they both pretended not to hear.

"Actually, Dumbledore told me." said Arasar, the edges of his lips twitching. "Sort of."

"Why would Dumbledore know that kind of thing?" demanded Hermione. "And why did he tell you?"

"He said that that kind of thing would come in handy." said Arasar. "Or maybe I said that."

The rest of the ride was rather silent Arasar yet again mentally complained about how long it took to get to Hogwarts- some seven hours, he was guessing. Neville obviously had no idea how to talk to Luna or Hermione- maybe he had a point there, they were girls, though Helga would have disapproved of that though. Hermione didn't know how to relate to Luna, and Arasar had no wish to talk to them- except maybe Neville, because he was male.

"It must be puberty." he murmured to himself. To avoid talking with Hermione, since they were bound to get into an intellectual argument SOMEHOW, and Luna, because they didn't seem to be speaking the same language, and Neville, because it would feel awkward if he only talked to Neville, he pretended to sleep.

It worked better than he expected it to. He really fell asleep in about thirty minutes and had a strange dream concerning wolves and black panthers. And where did Fawkes come in?

He woke in time to buy some chocolate from the trolley lady and toss some to the others and fall asleep again with the taste of chocolate in his mouth.

He went on and off for the rest of the trip. He read some of his book, ate all of his chocolate, and was through tired and bored during it and thankfully rushed out of the train even though it was raining when it was over.

"Thank goodness it's over!" he said as they boarded the carriage. He didn't spot Ron or Dean or Seamus, which was strange because he should have spotted Ron's hair almost right away.

"It wasn't... that bad." said Neville. But he was lying. He hadn't enjoyed the stiff silence at all.

Arasar ran his hand through his hair in a vain attempt to comb it out before he got out of the carriage as it stopped in front of Hogwarts. Giving it up as a bad job, he gratefully leapt out of the carriage and quickly walked around the others and slipped into the door amongst the mass of students, like a flood of black.

"Ackerly, Stewart!"

"Oi, where were you?" said Seamus from down the table. "Haven't seen you!"

"I know that!" hissed Arasar back to him. "Where's Ron, anyway?"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"At the Hospital Wing." said Dean. "He-"

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"Got into a fight with Malfoy." continued Dean.

"SLYTHERIN!"

"He would!" said Arasar.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

After the sorting was over, Dumbledore rose and Arasar gently wailed. "FEAST!" yelled Fred and George from somewhere up the table. Dumbledore chuckled.

"I have only two words to say to you." he told them, his voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

"Hear, hear!" Arasar said as he attacked the roast beef that had magically appeared in front of him. Ron appeared some five minutes later, sporting a fading black eye. Draco Malfoy followed with a cut lip and a smug look.

"Typical, typical." Hermione Granger said from across him. "All they think about is fighting."

"I thought you said it was Quidditch." said Arasar.

"Both violent activities." said Hermione.

"I'm not very violent." said Arasar. "Or so I like to think."

Hermione was going to retort, but she was interrupted by dessert.

Ron rapturously devoured everything near him.

"Treacle tart!" said Arasar, spotting his favourite dessert. "Excellent!"

After dessert, Dumbledore got up, smiling at everyone.

"So!" he said. "Now that we have all demolished the food, I must once ask again for your attention while I give out a few notices..."

After naming all the object forbidden inside the castle, and reminding them how the Forest got its name and that Hogsmeade was forbidden to all under-third years, he announced something that made Arasar look up in surprise.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.

Fred and George, Angelina Johnson and the others were all staring, gobsmacked, at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbledore continued, blandly ignoring everyone's looks, which varied from shocked stares to furious glares to bewildered gazes. "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year- taking up much of our time and energy, but I am sure you will enjoy it immensely-"

"Says who?" demanded Fred under his breath.

"I have great pleasure in announcing that this year, the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts."

There was a thunderstruck silence.

"Well, this beats Quidditch." muttered Hermione.

There was some belated laugh at this, and most of the Quidditch fans glared at her. Arasar sucked in some air and expelled it.

"For those who have never heard about the Triwizard Tournament before..."

But Arasar wasn't listening. He was staring blankly at the table, reading the knowledge in his mind about the Tournament. Three tasks. Discontinued some years ago due to rising death toll... also used to maintain alliance and friendship between countries...

"However, due to the death toll, we have added a new restriction... No under seventeens will be allowed to compete-"

"NO!"

Arasar jolted back to the present, realizing it was Fred and George who had just shouted.

"It's not fair!" bellowed George.

"We're coming of age!" protested Fred.

"In just a few weeks!"

"Please!"

"_WE'RE QUALIFIED!_"

Arasar kneaded at his aching temples. Redheads were _loud_.

"It's for your own safety." said McGonagall sharply.

"Besides, the Goblet will have a hard time choosing between the two of you." said Arasar.

"You might have a point there." said Dumbledore.

"But it's not fair!" they both said.

"Since when did you care about that?" Arasar murmured to himself.

"Also," said Dumbledore, enlargening his voice so it echoed about the Hall again. "I would like to introduce Professor Moody, who previously taught Battle Magics last year, as the new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher."

There was a respectful silence at this as Moody rose, imperiously nodded at everyone and sat down again. Arasar watched him warily. There was something rather off about him... But he ignored the thought.

After they had been dismissed, Arasar thankfully escaped to the dormitory to discuss this new, bizarre development with his roommates.

"My dad _knew_!" said Ron in an outraged tone. "He _knew_! And he didn't tell me- I am _so_ going to say that it was _his_ fault that I couldn't say anything when Malfoy taunted me about not knowing anything-"

"Is that what you fought about?" said Arasar.

"Yes." he said. "He said 'I bet that your father didn't know it because his job position was so _low_'- or something like that."

"Hmm." said Arasar. "Who do you think is going to be Champion?"

"Um." said Dean. "Hope it's not a Slytherin..."

"Candidates?" said Arasar.

"Angelina, I think." said Seamus. "And... the Diggory bloke in Hufflepuff's pretty likely too..."

"Probably." said Arasar. "He's quite talented..."

"At everything, I know." said Ron in disgust. "Top marks, Quidditch captain, Head Boy- honestly, the guy is-"

"A Gary Stu?" said Arasar politely before Ron could say anything that would condemn him to an eternal rant from his mother if his roommates tattled.

"Yes!" said Ron without knowing what it was.

Neville rolled his eyes.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"But why?" Arasar asked the Headmaster after coming in from jogging and meditating/swimming in the lake. "With the whole Voldemort situation isn't it... safer not to get tangled up with other countries on top of it?"

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head wearily.

"Alliances are more important than ever now." he said. "_Especially_."

Arasar flicked his hair impatiently. It still wasn't dry. "But if Voldemort takes advantage of this- and we both _know_ he will, it's going to royally mess up alliances, not improve them."

"We have to try." said Dumbledore ruefully. "We're having new wards set up and a squad of Aurors patrolling in and out and around of the school."

"As if that will stop him." said Arasar, just as ruefully. "In your experience- and mine, of course, we both know that."

"We're being careful." said Dumbledore. "You don't need to worry about it."

Arasar raised an eyebrow and nodded, turning around and walking away.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Is that a suitable explanation...?

Oh, and what do you think about the Animagus forms? (Wicked chuckle) Don't worry. They're not meaningless stuff put there because the Author hadn't any material to put in her story... they all have their uses.

Chapter 32: The Other Schools Arrive

Thanks for everyone who has assured me that the story is still okay... I'm really, truly sorry- I had writer's block when I was writing this section.

Miss Tenebrae Nivalis would like to mention that alix33 would be an excellent beta. Her critism punched holes through my pride but also strengthened my conviction that I DEFINITELY need another beta- no offense, Syme.

Oh, and I forgot the ask- do betas work for free? I'm a bit curious about that.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

He soaked in the lake, his entire body hidden beneath the water. The Lake was much, much deeper than the lake at the mountain, and it was extremely interesting to explore, though the merpeople were still shy, and the customs had much changed since the last ten centuries or so.

He could feel his hair drifting besides him, like an unusual weed. Experimentally, he twisted about and felt his hair move to keep up with him. Diving again, deep into the murky depths of the lake, he wondered what the heck he was doing wrong.

Perhaps he'd been taking the wrong line with the meditation. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to try to forcefully change- Sirius had told him to 'let it come', whatever THAT was supposed to mean. But he hadn't said anymore- or he couldn't, either way it was extremely frustrating for him. What was he doing wrong?

It obviously couldn't be very simple or something that could be put to words. Arasar sighed, seeing the air bubble toward the surface, and with one energetic movement he flipped himself after them and breathed in again.

It was noon, and he wasn't the only one swimming. After everyone on the grounds had seen the Boy-Who-Lived plunge into the lake, they hadn't thought it was a bad idea. Especially since it was noon, and they were hot, and tempers were running high...

He expelled all the air in him again and fell down into the deeps of the lake again. His eyes were closed.

What had he been doing wrong?

The tracking charm...

He wondered why he was remembering that. There was something connected to it with his present situation- but what was it? Concentration?

VAGUE concentration.

And with a jolt of energy, realization struck him.

Vague concentration.

That was it! That was what Sirius had meant when he said that it was important not to think too deeply about it. That vague concentration he had felt when he was casting the spell- there really had been no way to describe it. Only the word 'vague' and that was about the closest he could get. He instantly forgave Sirius for being imprecise about the details and was about to try again when he was struck again, this time with doubt.

Would it work?

If it didn't, he would be back to square one. The thought was almost enough to drive all the newly acquired energy out of his body. But not quite. Again concentrating, he let his mind relax and expand, making him aware of everything around him- splashings from above, muffled laughter and shouts...

What it was to be a dolphin was... it meant...

It meant that he heard everything in the water. Sound was magnified. He tried to turn his head to see what had happened, but he had no neck to turn. He could see both his right and left, and he got some sort of half-circle shaped vision in his mind. He hadn't any arms and almost panicked, and then realized he could swim fine without them, moving his tail up and down. Letting out a series of joyous whistles, he finned his way up, and leapt into the air, splashing water over everyone.

It led to a weird, twisted version of tag when everyone got over the shock of a dolphin suddenly appearing in the lake and playfully pranking everyone. Lessons were forgotten in the chase as Arasar twisted this way and that, dived, leapt, smacked some with his fin, jumped over people and always eluded their grasps. He marvelled at how amazingly SLOW they were in the water- unlike him, who moved with spectacular ease in the water.

But it stopped when McGonagall marched out and demanded why exactly have only a handful of Ravenclaws had shown up for her sixth year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Transfiguration class? Arasar mysteriously disappeared and people reluctantly dragged themselves out of the Lake, dried themselves and marched off to suffer. Arasar transformed under and climbed out too, showing up just in time for his Charms lesson with (yet again) wet hair.

He mailed Starless to Sirius about his completed transformation and told him to pass the info on to Lupin, and he gleefully informed the Founders about it too.

"Typical, typical." said Helga. "It's ALWAYS Boy genius who manages to break all the laws, whether magical, physical, or social..."

"I didn't break any laws." said Arasar. "Well- physical ones, anyway..."

"Gravity?"

"Uh..."

He was also rather perturbed about the new rumours that had spread around the school about Moody's lessons, that seemed to be very informative but equally disturbing. Fred and George and their friend Lee Jordan, however, gave them a clear impression that he was an excellent teacher. Arasar looked forward to the class, wondering what he'd have to offer.

He soon found out.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Unforgivables.

The word made him stiffen slightly. He drew in a breath and sighed quietly, staring at his teacher.

"Can anyone tell me what they are?" said Moody.

Several hands waved in the air, including his own.

"Weasley." growled Moody. Ron gulped and opened his mouth hesitantly.

"Er- the Imperius curse, sir..." he said.

"Correct!" said Moody. "Can anyone tell me what it does? Yes, you, Potter."

Arasar briefly tried to remember the last time Moody had called him 'Potter'. Definitely out of character for him. He usually called him 'laddie' or 'you'.

"It controls people's bodies." said Arasar.

"A very basic answer." said Moody. "But correct." he hobbled around to the other side of the desk and took out a jar holding three long-legged spiders.

Arasar saw Ron stiffen in front of him, and a grin spread across his face. Ron hated spiders.

"Imperio!" said Moody, pointing his wand at one of the spiders.

The unlucky spider swung itself out of the jar and cartwheeled across the table. Some Slytherins sniggered.

"D'you think it's funny?" Moody growled. "Would you think it amusing if I made it go down your throats?"

There was instant silence.

"Better." said Moody, making the spider flip-flop back to the jar. "Next. Yes, you, Gryffindor in the front."

"The- the- the Cruciatus Curse, sir." Neville said, jaw tightening.

Moody stared at him for a few seconds.

"Longbottom, was it?" he said with a strange expression on his face. Neville nodded. "Right, then. Anyone- tell me what it does. Granger."

"It- it causes pain, Professor." she said after a pause in which she glanced at Neville.

"Correct." said Moody. "Wingardium Leviosa. Engorgio!"

The second spider floated out of the jar and started growing larger and larger. Ron gave a small, almost inaudible squeak and started pushing his chair back. Arasar, over Ron's shoulder, could see the spider's hairy legs and the spider's queer skin and it's bulbous, multi-faceted eyes.

"Crucio." said Moody quietly. The spider started twitching, and it drew all its legs to its body and writhed. Arasar watched, face impassive, but his hands were clenched under the desk.

And with a flash, memories poured into his mind.

Alice and Frank Longbottom in the permanent ward of St Mungo's, eyes unseeing, faces pale and blank, unsmiling mouths... Bellatrix Lestrange shouting defiance at the court and declaring eternal loyalty to the Dark Lord... Barty Crouch Sn shouting at a young boy with hair the color of straw, spittle flying from his mouth, eyes wild and furious... Neville... Cruciatus... parents... insa-

His mouth tightened as he drew out of his- or rather, Dumbledore's memories. So that was it. He was glad he had not asked. He glanced at Neville, who was staring at the spider in fascinated horror.

"Stop." he said. He wasn't the only one who had spoken. Hermione Granger had said the same thing in unison. He glanced at her, surprised for a moment, and then flicked his attention back to Moody, who obligingly pointed his wand away from the spider. He reduced the spider back to its original size and levitated it back to the jar.

"Pain." he said. "You have no need for knives or thumbscrews if you have the Cruciatus curse. It's favoured by the Dark because it doesn't do much harm to the victim's body however you long it hold it onto him."

But the mind... thought Arasar. THAT'S the catch...

But Moody didn't mention this.

"The last one?" he said.

"Avada Kedavra." said Arasar.

"Yes." said Moody, casting a sideways glance at Arasar's composed profile. "You would know about that. Watch."

He picked up the last spider, which tried to scuttle away from his fingers frantically, but with no avail. Moody dropped it onto the desk and trained his wand at it.

"Avada Kedavra." he said. Arasar gazed, mesmerized, as the spell that matched his eyes in color shot toward the unfortunate spider and disappeared soundlessly as it hit it. The spider slumped and was motionless.

"Dead as a doornail." said Moody roughly. "Doesn't leave a trace. Always works. No defence."

"No magical one, you mean." corrected Arasar. "Any inanimate substance absorbed the curse harmlessly."

"Right!" said Moody, sounding pleased. "Which of the Unforgivables can be resisted?"

"Imperio." said Seamus promptly.

"Exactly." said Moody. "Which is why you'll be practicing throwing it off."

"Isn't it illegal?" said Arasar.

"Got special permission from the Ministry." said Moody. "They agreed it would come in handy."

Fortunately, the bell rang at that moment and they were all spared.

"Wicked!" said Ron to Dean and Arasar. "He's WAY better than Lockhart or Quirell. I was expecting some kind of hag- I mean, it would be typical of our luck, he's as good as Professor Lupin!"

"Quite like the real world, isn't it?" said Arasar.

"Exactly." said Ron.

Arasar gratefully forgot about the rather disturbing lesson and concentrated on his Animagus forms.

He tried for the black panther next. But Lupin sent him a letter through Starless to STAY OUT OF THE FOREST. It seems that he had anticipated Arasar, and Arasar had to admit that Lupin had a point. There was no guarantee that the Forest didn't hold creatures that could break through his wards.

However, fellow Gryffindors were more concerned about the arriving schools.

"Durmstrang is a Death Eater school." said Seamus disgustedly. "They don't hold with just studying Dark Arts, they USE it."

"Nothing wrong with Dark Arts." Arasar muttered out of his earshot. "Just a misunderstood art." But he didn't say in in front of anyone else, of course.

But people didn't seem to know much about Beauxbatons, except that it could be located SOMEWHERE in France.

"I heard they were all stuck up gits anyway." said Ron.

Moody's lessons had now moved on to resisting the Imperius curse. Arasar found this easy, with his Legilimency, since he could easily drive out the hostile presence seeking to control him in his mind. He also knew that a really powerful shield could block both other curses, but he had a feeling that it would be unwise to mention that.

He gave up his Animagus attempts for the meantime, practicing only occasionally in the lake, because it was futile to try to change to a panther when he wasn't in its natural habitat, which would make it much easier. The phoenix he couldn't reach at all. He looked forward to the coming Tournament and speculated with the others about who the Hogwarts Champion would be.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar waited with everyone else for the other schools to arrive. Parvati Patil had a butterfly ornament at the end of her braid, and Lavender Brown had somehow woven silky green bands in her hair, until McGonagall told them both to take them off. Arasar himself wasn't wearing anything out of ordinary, though Ron had made obvious efforts with his robes and Neville was nervously straightening his tie for the fifth time. Most of the girls were wearing more than casual robes, and had done their hair.

"When are they coming, anyway?" said Neville to Arasar.

"If they don't come, at least we don't have to have an out-of-ordinary year." said Arasar. "Though I suppose that's not much of a comfort."

"LOOK!"

Arasar turned his head to look at the skies, where a Ravenclaw second year was pointing at. He blinked and looked again.

"Is that an oversized owl or one of Hagrid's flying pumpkins?" he said to himself. A speck- no, FIVE specks, were slowly becoming larger and larger, seeming black and small, in contrast to the wide, reddening sky. As they came nearer, Arasar could see that the first four shapes were gigantic Pegasi, winged horses. Magnificent ones, large and brown with reddish manes and outstretched white and brown wings. Behind them was an enormous house-like carriage that somehow floated behind the Pegasi, and as the horses landed on the ground that students rushed aside to empty, sparks flying from their hoofs as they galloped onto the ground, slowed down to a fast run, then to a trot, a jog, and then a walk and a full stop.

"Beauxbatons." said Ron. "Naturally. They're all showoffs."

"Sshh!" said Parvati Patil.

And a large foot emerged from the carriage.

Arasar couldn't stop himself. "So the Beauxbatons representive is a foot?" he said. "Wow. Impressive. No wonder they're all stuck up."

The foot was followed by a leg and then the beginnings of a knee-high skirt.

"A leg." Arasar said.

And then a formidable looking female who was rather large.

"I may faint." said Arasar. "She's-" and then he stopped himself. Half giants- or all giants, female, male, full-blooded, half, quarter or one eighths, were all shunned. Much like werewolves. Arasar wisely decided not to say anything.

"She's HUGE!" whispered Ron to Dean.

Arasar looked again at the headmistress of Beauxbatons, who was talking to Dumbledore.

"Dumblee-dor." she said.

"Madam Maxime." said Dumbledore, kissing the woman's hand. He barely had to bend himself to do it. "It is a pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts."

"Indeed." she said. "My Peguzee-"

"Will be taken care of." said Dumbledore. "Our Care of Magical Creatures Professor will be able enough, I am sure."

"Of course." said Madam Maxime as if she were doubtful of Hagrid's capabilites. Arasar surpressed an amused grin. "Will you tell him that they drink only single-malt whiskey?"

"I will." promised Dumbledore.


	15. The Rest vi

"Good." said Madam Maxime and nodded at the inside of the carriage, which was angled so Arasar, and everyone else, couldn't see.

A boy with carefully combed dark brown hair jumped out first, trying to act unaware of the stares. He was followed by a blonde girl, and another blonde girl, and then long-nosed boy. They all stood stiffly behind their Headmistress, shivering.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Maxime inquired.

"Not yet." said Dumbledore.

Maxime nodded and walked up the stone steps to the inside of Hogwarts, followed dutifully by the dozen or so French students.

Students mostly stared up hopefully at the sky, but Arasar's attention was on the ground. There was a distant rumbling, though he could tell no one else had felt it. Unobtrusively sliding to the edge of the crowd, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the vibration.

"The Lake!" he said. Everyone glanced at him, and then at the lake. There were ripples forming from the center, though there was no visible disturbance... on the surface.

With a dramatic noise, a tip of a mast split the water and rose, pouring water from all sides. Water splashed and Arasar took a half-step backwards.

The ship drifted toward the edge of the lake and a remarkably composed looking man with a curling goatee and cold eyes jumped to the ground.

"Dumbledore!" he said.

Dumbledore strode forward and Arasar obligingly stepped aside for him.

"Igor." he said. "It is a pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts." For a briefly mad moment, Arasar wondered if Dumbledore would kiss Karkaroff's hand too.

Karkaroff smiled, revealing yellow teeth.

"My pupils." he said, waving a casual arm at the ship.

Several black-clad forms climbed out of the ship and jumped onto the ground with some visible relief.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." said Dumbledore, smiling at them all. Karkaroff nodded and gestured at them to follow him, and walked toward and up and inside the castle.

"Gosh!"

Ron's voice. Arasar turned. Ron's face was white and excited. "Did you see, Arasar? Did you see?"

"I saw much." said Arasar. "But not what you saw, apparently, since it didn't awe or frighten me."

"KRUM!" said Ron. "Viktor Krum!"

"How exciting." said Arasar. The name seemed familiar. "Wait- isn't he a Bulgarian Quidditch player?"

"He's a genius." said Ron, sounding awed. "I saw him this summer- he did a Wronski Feint, it was all over the papers- I had no idea he was still in school!"

"Fascinating." said Arasar, but he wasn't entirely insincere. "Well, good luck in getting an autograph."

"D'you reckon he'll sign my bag in lipstick?" Arasar heard a girl saying. "He's SOO handsome!"

He fought a wince.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Oh, and if you review, can you please tell me whether or not you've read the Abhorsen Trilogy? Because I'm planning to write a HPxAbhorsen crossover, but there's really no point if no one understands...

Chapter 33: Announcements

Yes, everyone, I know my writing stinks.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

As they entered the Great Hall for dinner, they noticed Filch up at the staff table, adding more chairs.

"But there are only two more people." said Arasar. "Karkaroff and Maxime. what are the other two for?"

"Eh?" said Ron. He was still gazing at Krum.

"Never knew you had those kind of feelings for him, Ron." said Arasar with a straight face. "And here I was, thinking it was just hero-worship."

When all the students from the other schools entered, Dumbledore stood up, beaming at everyone.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghost, and particularly- guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts..."

"And here we go, and hope your stay will be both pleasant and happy..." said Arasar under his breath.

"The tournament will be offically opened at the end of the feat. I now invite you all to eat, drink and make yourselves at home!"

A Beauxbatons girl gave a derisive laugh. Hermione glared frostily at her.

"Where d'you reckon Krum's going to sleep?" Ron said excitedly to Arasar as the food appeared. For once, he didn't seem very interested in it. "He could have my bed if he wants, I could kip on a camp bed..."

"So you could snuggle up to him while he's unaware?" said Arasar as he reached for the strange shellfish stew next to the large steak-and-kidney pudding. "Not a chance, Ron. He'll see right through it."

"Excuse me." said a voice. "Are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

"The what?" Ron said stupidly.

"That." said Hermione, pointing at the shellfish stew Arasar had just helped himself to seconds ago.

Arasar looked up at the girl who had spoken. It was the one who had laughed at Dumbledore- and Ron was goggling at her openly. Arasar could see why. A long sheet of silvery blonde hair fell to her waist, and she had large blue eyes. At least they didn't twinkle. Her complexion was perfect- Arasar could see Patil and Brown staring at her in the way Ron at goggled at Krum, with jealousy mixed.

At the same time, he could feel tendrils of Legilimency drifting from her.

He slapped them away without thinking about it. The Legilimency was natural- she wasn't really doing it on purpose. It was supposed to charm people, but Arasar felt fine with judging people without being charmed.

"I think we're finished." he said. The girl was still staring at him. Obviously she'd never recieved such an unusual reception. He looked back at her levelly, despite the fact that she was taller than him and she was standing while he was sitting.

"Yes." she said after pause. "Thank you."

She carefully took the dish and carried it back to the Ravenclaw table.

"Blimey." said Ron weakly. His voice came out strangled and sticky. "Did you SEE her?"

"Yes, I did." said Arasar coolly, reaching for a mushroom pie. "I believe everyone did, Ronald."

"Did you see her FACE?" he said.

"I did." said Arasar. "She's part Veela."

"I- hey!" said Ron, turning to look at Arasar in astonishment. "How did you know that?"

"Obvious." said Arasar with a faint smile. His memories from Dumbledore told him enough about Veela, but that girl was also obviously enough not full blooded, otherwise she would have had everyone drooling over her. Well, technically, everyone (males) WERE, but they weren't doing strange or mad things to attract her attention.

Yet.

"When you've put your eyes back, you might as well take a look at them." said Hermione briskly, nodding at the staff table. The two remaining empty seats had been filled. Ludo Bagman, whom Arasar knew from Dumbledore's memories, and Crouch, whom he knew to be the father of Barty Crouch Jn, who- but he pushed that thought away.

"Why are they here?" said Ron.

"They organized the Tournament, didn't they?" said Hermione. "I imagine they wanted to watch."

"Probably." agreed Arasar.

After the golden plates had been wiped clean and disappeared, Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"The moment has come." he announced dramatically. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words before we bring in the casket-"

"Is this a funeral?" wondered Arasar to himself.

"First I would like to introduce Mr Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation-"

"Wowee." said Arasar unenthusiastically.

"-and Mr Ludo Bagman, head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There was a loud round of applause.

And there was another speech about how the two had worked so tirelessly over the last few months for the Tournament arrangments and that they would be taking place at judges with Dumbledore himself, Maxime, and Karkaroff.

"And now." said Dumbledore, meaningfully. "The casket, if you please, Mr Filch."

Filch immerged from the shadowy corner of the Hall like a gargoyle carrying a large wooden chest encrusted with jewels. He had some trouble lifting it, his skinny arms were wrapped around it but didn't even touch as he hobbled toward Dumbledore.

"As I explained to the Hogwarts student at the beginning of the year, the three tasks are spaced evenly throughout the school year and they will test the champions in their magical prowess- their daring- their powers of deduction- and most of all, their ability to cope with danger."

There was a dead silence.

"The three champions," said Dumbledore calmly, "Will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

With these words, the chest lid slowly creaked open. Dumbledore bent over and pulled out a large, roughly cut wooden cup. It looked far from a goblet. It would have been entirely unextraordinary looking if it hadn't been for the blue and white flames leaping up from the cup.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves of champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty four hours, starting from now, in which to put their names in. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to become and bear the name of Champion. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete."

After talking about more about how dangerous the tournament was and to think carefully before entering, and that there was an Age Line to prevent anyone below seventeen entering, he concluded that there was no way to change minds, he dismissed them all.

"A Champion!" said Ron. "I bet Krum will be one. Obvious, isn't it?"

"A thousand Galleons as prize money!" Fred was saying loudly to Lee Jordan and his twin. "I mean, can you turn down a chance like this? I'm taking that potion whatever I do-"

"Shut up, Fred." said Lee. "Someone might hear."

Arasar pretended to be fascinated by the ceiling.

Ron, however, weren't paying attention to his brothers and was frantically looking around as everyone filed out of the Hall. "Where is he? Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang students were sleeping, did he?"

But this query was answered soon enough as they passed near the Slytherin table.

"Back to the ship, then." Karkaroff was saying. "Viktor, did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"

Arasar smiled slightly as they turned again to the door, walking slowly as the students filtered out like sand through an hourglass.

"He's a genius." Ron was saying as they reached the door. Karkaroff approached the entrance at the same time, and Arasar, without thinking about it, stepped aside to make way for him.

"Thank you." Karkaroff was about to pass by when he looked back suddenly as if he couldn't believe his eyes. They moved from his hair, to his green eyes, to his half-hidden scar.

The Durmstrang student looked at the boy who had caused their headmaster so much surprise. Comprehension dawned on few of their faces, and Arasar felt a twinge of annoyance as a boy will food on his clothes gaped and pointed openly. The polite smile on his mouth melted.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter." said Moody, limping toward them.

Karkaroff stiffened for half a second before whirling around.

"You!" he said. Arasar stared with narrowed green eyes at him, and then at Moody. Another memory came to him... Another trial, where Karkaroff was-

"Me." said Moody grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway."

Karkaroff flushed slightly and marched out forward. Arasar waited them to pass and headed toward the Gryffindor Tower, an unreadable expression on his face.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

A redheaded woman stood in front of him, standing limply to the side as if leaning against an invisible wall. Her green eyes were blank and hollow, and it wrenched at Arasar to see her. Besides her stood a black haired man with a similar expression on his face, blank, bleak, hollow, empty- much like Sirius's eyes when he had come out of Azkaban, only worse.

He knew their faces well.

His parents. The ones he had never known.

Behind them were a multitude of people, the ones in the distance blurry and gray, the ones near with hollow features and blank profiles. There was a small girl behind his father who was dripping wet, with blue lips and blank gray eyes, but she made no movement. She did not shiver, did not try to warm herself. Next to her was a tall man with half of his head caved it in a red mess. Many of them were in no state to be alive.

They all stood on a battleground, but the grounds were bleached bluish gray. The distance was more gray than bluish, and he could see an army of them- stretching back to the horizon. He looked behind him and realized that he was alone, and they were all against him. They slowly, all at once, staggered forth, and he took a step back and felt himself falling- and he knew, clearly, that there were stone spikes rising to meet him from below-

And he awoke.

He was drenched in sweat. For a few moments he gasped in relief, relief that he had a solid mattress to his back and an army of dead were probably no where to be found on this world. He breathed for another few moments to make the aftereffects of the dream disappear and then rose, drying himself with a wave of his hand, and he drank some water and went back to sleep.

And in the morning, he did not remember the dream.

He just stood in front of his bookshelf, running his fingers absently over the well-known spines to reassure himself that there was nothing wrong. He sighed and turned away, rubbing disturbedly at his scar.

Someone had just tried to break through his Occlumency shields.

It was a disturbing thought. Who would want to break into his mind?

"Well, lots of people." he told himself. He sat on the bed and concentrating. It would be a strange picture for an outsider- a dark-haired boy in pajamas sitting cross-legged on the bed, forehead creased in concentration.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Every experienced Legilimens organized his/her mind into a recognizable scene. An non-Legilimens person's mind varied- a schizophrenic tended to have thoughts and memories spilling everywhere, while people like Neville's parents had shut doors to everything. Dumbledore's mind was a neat, tidy room, while some naturally disorganized people had boxes and drawers full of information lying everywhere.

However, Arasar had schooled HIS own consciousness into a likeness of a labyrinthic castle, since it tended to confuse people seeking to invade his mind. Azar had once got lost in Arasar's mind and had remained in coma until Arasar took pity on him and led him out.

It was an effective protection, but one that was hard to maintain, because an ordinary human's mind wasn't meant to keep itself in such a complicated state.

But Arasar really wasn't normal.

He himself knew his own mind perfectly well, however, and he moved from his own room in the center of the castle, where he always started when he explored his mind, to the outsides of the castle to examine the walls surrounding it.

What he found shocked him.

The walls were cracked, almost at the stage of collapsing. One section of the top and crumbled and fallen to the grass as pebbles and rocks, and hairline cracks ran everywhere.

Arasar stared, appalled, at the once white and new looking walls he had proudly finished building and tentatively touched the battered stone.

From where his hand touched, the cracks healed and the weak looking stone straightened (if stone could do that) and slowly spread outwards. Arasar put his other hand next to the one already touched the stone and concentrated.

The wall shimmered and all the cracks disappeared. For a good measure, Arasar put new aggressive defenses in front of the wall in the form of deadly looking spikes, and spent some more time rebuilding the more fragile parts of the wall.

But then-

"Ouch!" Arasar gasped, and then he vanished from his mind.

And his eyes opened.

Ron was shaking his shoulder, looking perturbed. Without thinking, Arasar kicked him in the stomach.

"Ow!" said Ron, doubling up and gasping. "What was that for?"

"Sorry." said Arasar. "I was doing some- oh, never mind. Sorry, anyway."

Ron got up from the corner, rubbing his stomach. "That'll teach me not to disturb you when you're doing something weird." he said ruefully. "Anyway, you should get up."

Arasar, after kicking Ron out of his room again, changed into jeans and a T-shirt because it was Saturday and he could wear anything he wanted. Right?

He certainly garnered some strange looks from the students, and from all the Beauxbatons students, who all stared at him like a stuffed animal on exhibition. Some of the girls giggled. Arasar pointedly ignored them and went to the library with several books and the book he used to talk to the Founders in his bag.

He spread them out in front of him and put his feet on the table, since there was no Madam Pince to berate him, spread the book on his lap and dropped a few drops of mauve ink on the page as a greeting.

"Arasar..."

"What time is it there? I trust you're not doing anything embarassing?"

"Arasar!"

"Oh, sorry, Helga..."

"It's lunchtime, if you must know. So, what's going on now?"

"Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrived."

"What are they like?"

"One is nice, one is stuck up. Oh, and the most probable Champion of Durmstrang is a world-famous Quidditch player."

"Still at school?"

"Yeah."

"Poor fellow. Male, right?"

"Yeah."

"Poor, poor, fellow."

"So, why is Beauxbatons stuck up?"

"Apparently they have unmelting ice statues carved with Da Vinci precision and diamond plates and floors paved with rubies. From the way they act and sneer at everything, I wouldn't be surprised."

"I think Hogwarts is grand enough. In your time, I mean. It's still only just big in this era."

"Era..."

"Yeah. Really weird, isn't it?"

After Helga went off to teach Herbology first year class, Arasar shut the book and started working on the new Muggle Studies essay Professor Elgumton had set him.

There were several incidents between the twenty four hours Dumbedore had given them. First Angelina Johnson put her name in the goblet, and Fred and George Weasley completed brewing whatever Potion they'd decided would help them and ended up with beards. Arasar was fortunately present to be spectator to this.

But the air grew tenser and tenser, and by the time the deadline was five minutes away, everyone was present at the Great Hall. Some looked expectant, some apprehensive, some hopeful.

Arasar was still examining his mind barriers. He had made up his mind to talk to Dumbledore about it later, though the problem was fixed for the meantime. The wall held.  
After the feast, which Arasar picked at, Dumbledore rose. On either side of him, Maxime and Karkaroff were looking expectant and tense as anyone else. Ludo Bagman had an expression of intense enjoyment, however, and Crouch was looking blank and bored.

"Well, the Goblet is ready to make its decision." said Dumbledore. "Now, when the champion names are called, they are to come of to the front and go through the next chamber-" he motioned to the small door behind the staff table- "Where they will be recieving their first instructions." With a flick of his wand, all the lights in the Hall went out and the blue white fire in the Goblet, which had been subdued by the contrast of the other lights, now seemed to blaze, unrestrained, casting eerie, bluish light everywhere.

"Any second..." said someone behind Arasar.

The Goblet suddenly fizzed red. Sparks flew from it and harmlessly went out before reaching any flammable material. A tongue of flame suddenly shot into the air, and disappeared, leaving a charred piece of parchment drifting down toward the ground.

Dumbledore read it and announced that the Durmstrang Champion would be Viktor Krum.

"No surprises there!" said Ron as Krum rose and went through the door. Other Durmstrang students looked resigned.

As the applause died down, the goblet flamed red and spat out another piece of parchment. Dumbledore deftly caught it, held it to the light and said-

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"

"That's her!" said Ron. "The Veela girl who wanted Buil- boil- Bwilla- oh, never mind..."

The girl leapt up, blonde hair swaying, and practically danced to the staff table and through the door.

The other Beauxbaton students looked extremely disappointed. Some where even crying. Arasar rolled his eyes at this and turned his attention back to the Goblet, which was going red again. Another browned piece of parchment fluttered down and Dumbledore read aloud, smiling as he did so.

"The Champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!"

Arasar let out a congratulating whistle that couldn't be even heard above the sudden explosion from the Hufflepuff table as Cedric clambered from his seat and headed toward the chamber behind the staff table with a broad grin on his face.

"Excellent!" said Dumbledore. "We now have our three champions. I count on the rest of the unchosen students to cheer on and encourage the Champions as much as possible. In this you will be participating in the Tournament as much as-"

The goblet fizzed red again. Arasar looked at it, puzzled. Dumbledore looked blank as a piece of parchment drifted down onto his hand.

Dumbledore read it.

And read it again, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

Then he cleared his throat and said-

"Harry Potter."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Chapter 34: The Fourth Champion

Arasar didn't recognize his own name for a few seconds, and then it struck him that everyone was staring at him. Then his eyes started blazing with green fury, and they seemed to glow in the darkly lit room.

"Is this some kind of joke?" he hissed.

"Your name came out, Harry." said Dumbledore, and Arasar noted the use of his other name. "There's no... alternative."

Arasar was about to say 'Find one, then!' when his politeness took control again. Standing up, he did nothing more than glower at the adults arrayed on the staff table and stiffly walked toward the chamber door and in, ignoring stares with practiced, but furious, ease.

"Do zey want us back in ze Hall?" said Fleur Delacour, noticing him.

Cedric looked at Arasar in surprise. Arasar glared at the fireplace and leaned against the wall, listening to the distant boom of Karkaroff's voice behind the door. Protesting, probably, thought Arasar.

"Only that this Tournament is royally fu- messed up." he said, catching his mistake in time.

Delacour and Krum looked at him questioningly and Arasar waited, keeping his face under control for the others to come in, shout at him, lecture, and find a way to get him out of the mess.

His eyes caught the fire's golden light as he glared at it. He made agitated movements with his right hand, but otherwise didn't show any sign of his rage or confusion.

"Harry." said Dumbledore, coming into the room, followed by Bagman, Crouch, Moody, Snape, Maxime, and Karkaroff. "What is this all about?"

"I did NOT put my name in the Goblet!" Arasar said hotly. "And I am NOT going to be Champion." he resisted adding that he thought it was a stupid title.

"The thing there is no avoiding," said Barty Crouch, "Is the fact that once your name comes out, you are magically bound by contract to stay within the Tournament and participate in it to the best of your abilities-"

Arasar stopped horror from entering his face.

"I'm stuck with this?" he said angrily. "I'm stuck in this stupid Tournament?"

"In which Durmstrang will _not_ be participating in!" Karkaroff suddenly exploded. "After all out negotiations and compromises, I never expected something like this to occur! I will be withdrawing my Champion from this _now_-"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff." said Moody. "Like Barty said, you and Krum are magically bound to this Tournament. Whether you want or not, you're part of it."

Maxime opened her mouth next.

"Ziss is unfair, Dumbly-dorr!" she said, rounding on the tall Headmaster who looked like a dwarf next to the half-giant. "You haff a double chance at ziss Tournament! This is unjust! I insist that one more champion be chosen from both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang immediately!"

"Impossible." said Bagman. He smiled apologetically at Maxime when she whirled onto him. "You see, Madam, the Goblet had shut down now, since its part is finished. It will not relight until the next Tournament starts-"

"Ridiculous!" said Maxime. "Ask ze boy! He is responsible, and I am sure that he is tricking us!"

The other Champions, who had obviously caught on to what the matter was, looked at Madam Maxime now. She was obviously thinking over the original oath. Fleur Delacour muttered "But he eez only a little boy!"

"I did not do it." Arasar repeated, getting tired of the whole thing already. He saw where this was going. No one was going to believe him.

"Of course you did." said Madam Maxime simply. "For who will _not_ wish to enter ze Tournament? A thousand Galleons for ze prize money- zis is a chance many would die for!"

"Maybe someone is hoping Potter_ is_ going to die for it." said Moody.

An extremely tense silence followed these words. Arasar raised his chin as if to say he had no intention of dying anytime soon. Dumbledore looked grave, and Maxime looked dismissive.

"Moody, old man..." said Bagman, trying to break the silence. "What a thing to say!"

"Paranoid he is." said Karkaroff scornfully. "Apparently he is now trying to teach his students to be so as well. He is imagining things-"

"Imagining things, am I?" said Moody, taking a _clunki_ng step toward Karkaroff. "It was a skilled magic user who but his name in the Goblet..."

"Ah, but what evidence is zere of zat?" said Madam Maxime, still glaring at Dumbledore and Arasar, who was now leaning against the wall with his arms folded with a contemptuous look on his face.

"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" said Moody. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete... I imagine they submitted Potter in the fourth school to make sure he was the only one who could be chosen-"

"Preposturous." said Karkaroff coldly. "The boy is obviously seeking fame. Look at his exploits until now! Defeating the Dark Lord. Freeing murderers. He-"

"My godfather was _not_-" Arasar began.

"That's enough, Igor. Alastor is correct. Harry Potter was submitted under a school called Sil Thea." said Dumbledore. "How this situation arose, we do not know. It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. Rules are rules, however we do not like them. This, so, they will do..."

"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr-"

"My dear Madam Maxime, if you have an alternative, I will be delighted to hear it."

"As will I." murmured Arasar.

Maxime glowered but didn't say anything else. Snape looked livid, Karkaroff too. Barty Crouch cleared his throat.

"Well," he said. "The instructions."

It seemed everyone had forgotten about those too, since they looked startled for a moment.

"The first task is to test your daring and courage," said Crouch, "So we will not be telling you what it is. It will take place on November the twenty-fourth in front of the other students and the panel of judges." The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The Champions will face the task armed only with their wands, and will recieve information about the second task when the first is over. Also, the champions are excused from the end-of-year exams."

"Well, that's one good thing," Arasar murmured to himself. Then, in a louder voice- "Well, then, I'll be going. If any of you find a way to get me out of this, please tell me." He left with this.

Cedric Diggory caught up with his as he stormed down the corridor.

"Hey, Potter!" he said. Arasar turned around in the middle of processing everything that had happened and throwing a mild tantrum inside his head. "I suppose we're rivals, now."

"Yes." said Arasar. He had given up correcting anyone who called him Potter by now.

"Uh." said Cedric. "How DID you do it?"

"I didn't put my name in." said Arasar wearily. "No one believes me."

Cedric stared at his face carefully, as if trying to see if Arasar was telling the truth or not. He apparently decided Arasar was lying, and shrugged.

"Well, good luck." he said at last.

"I'll need it." said Arasar. "You too."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The next few days were the most harrowing ones that Arasar had ever known. Gryffindors either treated him as a hero or were jealous of him. The jealous ones were Ron, Dean and Seamus, all three had become uncommonly cold to him after the incident and Arasar found himself always sitting with Neville in classes. Hufflepuffs glared at him, probably because they thought he was stealing Cedric's glory, and Slytherins sneered as usual. Nothing could convince them that Arasar hadn't wanted to enter the stupid tournament in the first place. Even Ravenclaws, the House that Arasar had expected to be neutral, didn't think very well of him.

As a result, Arasar started spending more and more time in the library, into the hidden rooms. As a result yet again, he started finishing his essays too soon and was left bored, with no Quidditch practice.

Training with Moody, however, was still going strong. Moody had adopted new tactics this time and was putting Harry through a new kind of training which included more fast, harsh sort of martial arts. Arasar started going into the forest- the outer part of it, for he still remembered Lupin's warning- and practicing. Meditating to become the black panther was difficult, as he kept getting abruptly angry at everyone's attitude. And anger didn't help his concentration.

He still took pleasure in swimming in the lake, as no one knew him in that form. He sent a letter to Sirius by Starless protesting his innocence, and Sirius sent Starless back to him with a grimy mirror, telling him that he had the other one and could communicate through it if Arasar said Sirius's name to it.

And by the end of the week, Arasar officially hated Rita Skeeter.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Yes. I know. Very, very, very short chapter. Remember what I said in the Disclaimer in chapter Fifteen? This is the part I was having trouble with. Wrote it over about seven times- pity me...

Next chapter- Arasar annoys RS, and we discover the peculiar origins of his wand...

Yes, thank you for being honest. I know my writing is still immature (Those who disagree don't have to say it in my reviews) and I still have a long way to go. But I can safely say that I've definitely improved from six months ago, when I started writing my Multerrarum trilogy (Those who have had the misfortune to read it know that it was composed of bad spelling, a nonsensical plot, inane jokes, mad dialogue, and general idiocy. PSTurner for one I am grateful to for putting up with all that). So far my best work is 'Stchorlei', but that might change. I had writer's block here and for the next few chapters so they'll be fairly humdrum. I'll be grateful if you put up with it.

Chapter 35: The Weighing of the Wands

Guess what? This is the _first_ time in_ three_ days that I've managed to log in. It's that bloody schedule of mine. I wake up at seven something, about three to four hours earlier than my usual rising time, and then I have to be at school by eight thirty or they make you do horrible things like running around the grounds five times to ten times. Did that this morning. In a bloody skirt. And after school ends I have to go to my hagwun (Place where you study extra) and I came back now. At ten thirty. And I have to pack my bag now because otherwise I need to get up even earlier. And I don't want to do that.

So, my point again. Updates slow. Reasons above. Writing time five minutes a day. That will be all. Thank you.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It all started on a particularly hot day, when Arasar was getting hotter, hotter, and more annoyed by the second with the hot steam pouring out of the potion they were brewing, Neville's continuous mistakes, and the glares Snape and the Slytherins kept shooting him. It was on that day too that they had started wearing badges. That, and Snape's snide remarks, made his temper rise and rise... and he was glad when Colin Creevey came in and said that Bagman needed Arasar for photographs and whatnot.

Though Arasar detested the fact that Colin had drawn yet more attention to his Champion status, he leapt up gratefully, packed his bag and was out of the door before Snape could protest. His footfalls slowed when he went near the door that the others were in, and he dreaded entering.

He did it, anyway, expertly pasting a look of supreme coolness on his face as he went in.

"The fourth Champion!" exclaimed Ludo Bagman happily. Arasar surpressed a scornful sneer- the man really was hyper- but that was due to his bad mood. Instead, he smiled politely.

"Hullo. Ludo Bagman, wasn't it?" said Arasar politely, giving his hand to shake. Bagman took it enthusiastically.

"This is Rita Skeeter." he said, turning to a lady with carefully curled blonde hair and bright jeweled green spectacles with. Two-inch talons manicured sparkling red clutched a large green crocodile bag. Arasar felt as soon as he saw her that it had _not_ been a good idea to come in the room. "She's doing a small article for the Daily Prophet about this."

"Oh, maybe not that small, Ludo." said Skeeter. "Now- Ludo, I was wondering if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" said Skeeter, taking her appraising eyes of Arasar and looked at Bagman. "The youngest Champion and all that... draws interest, you know."

"If Harry doesn't mind." said Bagman charitably.

Arasar was about to open his mouth to utter a vehement refusal when Rita smiled like poisoned honey and grabbed his sleeve. "Lovely." she said, opening a small door. Arasar made a horrified face at the other Champions, who politely pretended not to see except Cedric, who couldn't hide his smile before he, too, turned his head.

Rita Skeeter dragged him into the room and slammed the door after him, obscuring them in darkness. "Lumos." said a voice, and Arasar backed away and bumped his head on the low-beamed ceiling as a light suddenly illuminated Skeeter's face, only a few inches away from his, like a ghost's.

"You wouldn't mind if I used a Quick-Quotes-Quill to record our little interview, would you?" said Rita. "It leaves me free to talk to you normally." without waiting for his answer, she took out a luminiscent green quill from her back and pulled out a piece of parchment.

Quick-Quotes-Quill. The word dislodged a piece of information that had long been dormant in Dumbledore's Memory. Quick-Quotes-Quill. Banned in 1971 because it tended to write down less factual things than what the 'victim' said.

Arasar smiled politely and took the quill away, and it turned to ash in his finger and rained on the floor. "I'm sorry, Miss Skeeter. Quick-Quotes-Quills were banned by law RO182 on 1971, October. The ban still stands."

Rita Skeeter gaped like a fish for a few seconds, and Arasar couldn't help letting some of his vicious truimph leek into his smile. Quite a lot of his temper went down. He mentally thanked Dumbledore for so studiously memorizing law.

"Very well, then, Harry." she said, regaining her composure. She took out an ordinary violet quill. Arasar narrowed his eyes at it. Magic surrounded it like a golden haze. Even more vicious than it's predecessor. Arasar wondered how she got her hands on all those things. He concentrated and pulled out a black quill out of his pocket, untampered with. With the other hand he snatched the quill out of Skeeter's hands and turned it to ash, too.

"I'm afraid that the Quick-Notes-Quill is banned by the same law." he said, handing her the black quill.

Arasar saw Rita go red in the darkness- a furious red. She smiled again.

"Well, then, Harry." she said, venom in her voice concealed by artificial sweetness. "Now- why did you decide to enter the Tournament?"

One word answers. Arasar thought. Good way to frustrate her. He had no qualms whatsoever about taking his temper out of Rita Skeeter. He knew from Dumbledore's memories that her articles tended to be... vicious. "I didn't."

Skeeter raised one heavily eyebrow. "Oh come now, Harry, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers love a rebel."

Arasar was silent. In the darkened room, his eyes glowed slightly like a cat's as he stared sarcastically at Skeeter.

Skeeter was evidently getting flustered. "How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" she said. "Excited? Nervous?"

"Annoyed." said Arasar simply. Skeeter scribbled down something on the parchment.

"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" said Skeeter, watching Arasar closely for a reaction. "Have you thought about that at all?"

"Perhaps." said Arasar.

"Of course, you've faced death before, haven't you?" said Skeeter, leaning forward and bending her face upwards conspiratorially. "How would you say that's affected you?"

Arasar shrugged.

"Do you thinkg that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think perhaps that you were tempted to enter the Tournament because you wanted to keep your reputation fresh?"

"I didn't enter." said Arasar. His good mood at successfully annoying Rita Skeeter was evaporating, and fast. Skeeter was now taking her revenge.

"How do you think your parents would feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Angry? Proud? Worried?"

Arasar was saved the trouble of blowing Skeeter apart when the door opened, blessed, real sunlight came in and Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the sight of Rita Skeeter hovering predatorially over Arasar, who looked like he was a few seconds away from eviscerating Skeeter.

"Dumbledore!" cried Skeeter delightedly, stuffing the parchment into her bag. "How are you?" she said, giving him a large, mannish hand to shake. With a jerk of his head, the crocodile bag silently zipped open and Arasar, quick as quick, snatched the parchment out and read it, eyes narrowing

Denial that he entered- could write that he wishes to avoid trouble... Tries to avoid subject about how he feels about Tournament. PSBLT- nervous, scared, foolishly excited (?). A rebelling teenager... desperate to prove himself to the world... Shows reckless excitement at the prospect of tasks... Laughs off possible death... Possibly denial? Eyes fill with tears as approaching subject of parents...

The parchment turned to ash in his hands. Dumbledore, over Rita Skeeter's shoulder, saw what he was doing and smiled slightly. The zipper on Rita's bag swiftly and soundlessly closed.

"Farewell, Miss Skeeter." said Arasar, raising his hand in fairwell. He could see Krum looking at them in what could be called sullen interest. "May your less than legal interests flourish and your malicious nosiness fail to harass any more innocent people." That was the most infuriating insult he could think of at the spur of the moment. He would have put more eloquence in it if he'd had time, but Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, Arasar." he said.

"Yes, Headmaster." said Arasar, looking like a perfect example of subdued obedience, and walked to where the other champions and the other judges were sitting, and leaned against the wall.

"Like a vulture, isn't she?" said Cedric to him quietly. "Hovering above prey."

Arasar shrugged and smiled.

"May I introduce Mr Ollivander?" said Dumbledore. "He will be checking your wand conditions."

Arasar's eyes flickered to the wizard standing besides the window, where the light didn't reach, with some surprise. There was a Notice-Me-Not spell on him.

"Madmoiselle Delacour, coud we have you first, please?" said Ollivander, stepping forward into the sunlight. Fleur Delacour swept over to Ollivander and handed him her wand.  
"Hmm." said Ollivander. He swished it, and a strong triangular stream of pink and gold sparks showered out and disappeared.

"Yes." he said. "Nine and half inches. Inflexible... not quite what I usually go for, but quite effective. Rosewood... quite a powerful core- specialty Charms, is it? Especially with the core- powerful magic. The core, now..."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a Veela." said Fleur. "My grandmuzzer."

"As I said, not what I usually go for." said Ollivander musingly. "I find that they make rather temperamental wands. But each to his own, and if this suits you..." he ran a finger slowly up and down the wand, turning it over.

"Orchideous!" he said, flicking the wand. A bunch of violets burst out of the wand. Ollivander scooped them up and handed it back to Fleur with her wand. "Mr Diggory next."  
"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Ollivander, sounding rather fond now. "Yes, I remember it well... Willful unicorn, that one. Twelve and quarter inches... ash... pleasantly springy. You treat it regularly?"

"Polished it last night." said Cedric, grinning.

Ollivander shot some rings of gray smoke from the wand and proclaimed it to be in excellent condition. "Mr Krum, if you please." he said.

Viktor Krum got up and slouched toward Ollivander and handed him his wand. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling with his hands in his pockets. "Ah... A Gregorovitch creation, isn't it?" said Ollivander, feeling the wand. "A fine wand-maker, though the styling isn't quite what I... however..."

He lifted the wand into the light and turned around so the sun shone on it. "Yes... hornbeam and dragonstring?" he asked. Krum nodded. "Ten and quarter inches... rigid. Avis!"  
With a curt blast, several birds forced themselves out of the wand and fluttered away to the outside.

"Good." said Ollivander. "Which leaves... Mister Potter."

Arasar walked over and handed his wand to Ollivander.

Ollivander gave a sharp gasp as he fingered it. "This..." he said, silver eyes widening. "One of these wands I've not seen for a long time..."

He seemed lost in memory and fingered the wand for a few seconds before Arasar cleared his throat.

"Ah, yes." said Ollivander. "How- when did you buy it, Mr Potter?"

"About a year ago." said Arasar. "In Diagon Alley."

"There are no wand shops other than mine in Diagon Alley." said Ollivander quietly. "Except one, and that is long past. This, now. Fourteen inches... rather long, yes. Yew... Very special yew. Who did you buy it from?"

"I don't know her name." said Arasar.

"Her?" said Ollivander sharply.

"Tall." said Arasar. "With a mole on her left cheek. Graying hair."

Ollivander let out a sigh.

"Her." he muttered. "I never expected her to... but that's past, now. Dementor Essence core?"

"Yes." said Arasar.

"It has a tendecy toward the Dark Arts, Mr Potter." said Ollivander quietly. "Take care." he turned it over a few times and raised his eyebrows at the green gem at the end of the point, but didn't comment. "Stiria." he murmured, and an icicle flew out of the wand and out of the window. Arasar took it back.

"Now, photos!" said Bagman jovially. Arasar stared at his wand broodingly and put it back into his holster. "All the champions and judges, what do you think?"

"Very good." said Skeeter, eyes alight with excitement at this peculiar information about Arasar's wand. He could already see the headlines in his mind. BOY WHO LIVED HAS A DARK WAND. He vowed to do something nasty to Skeeter. Quite soon.

Photographing was stupid, in Arasar's opinion. Cedric and Krum jostled on either side, and he felt uncomfortably short, and Madam Maxime's shadow loomed behind him and blocked out all the sunlight. He tried to squeeze back into the back, but Rita grabbed his arm and pulled him out. Arasar resisted the urge to kick her and gently slid back when her attention was on Dumbledore.

He stayed behind after all the champions and judges drained out. Arasar lingered behind to talk with Ollivander.

"What's so strange about my wand?" he said, noticing Rita listening, next to the door. Better and better.

"You see, Mr Potter, I learned Wandcrafting from a woman called Stephanie Sildan. She has... always been more adept at me, naturally. Her wands brought the best results. After she went away, I became the best wandmaker in the country... but I could never surpass her skills, no matter how carefully I crafted each wand. It was after she left when I found out what she had done- she put souls into the wand, Mr Potter."

"Souls?" said Arasar, raising his wand. "You mean-"

"No." Ollivander reassured him. "It's not what you think. Usually the wand core is dead- inanimate, you see. Long ago a law was passed that all 'life' in the cores should be killed before putting it in a wand- you probably don't understand-"

"I do." said Arasar. "You mean, they took away the life in it it that fueled the magic. The magic remains, but the wand will be- dull and lifeless. Just a channel."

"Very good." said Ollivander, sounding impressed. "Well, it was made illegal for some reason. But Sildan still used that method... and it brought much better results. When she became exposed, she went to another country. Why she is back, I do not know- her old shop is still standing, because the wards still hold. She cannot be back permanently, or I would have known. I suspect she made a sneak visit back again- she did so in the past, several times."

"And she made me a wand." said Arasar, a colorless laugh escaping his lips. "Thanks for telling me."

He sped out silently and tackled Skeeter as she made to inch away.

"Oh, no you don't." he grunted, immobilizing her with an impromptu charm. "You're not going to get away with _this_ little juicy tidbit, you're not."

Skeeter played her last card and did something that Arasar instantly recognized as an Animagus transformation. He leapt back and eyed the floor, spotted a frozen beetle and summoned it into his hands.

"No tricks." he said as he conjured a jar and dropped her in. "Or I'll really get angry."

He started toward the Gryffindor Tower, changed his mind, and went to the Room of Requirement. He was going to miss Charms, but he didn't mind that now. After all, he wasn't going to be taking his exams anyway. He paced up and down thrice, thinking hard about an indimidating interrogation room, and entered.

It was intimidating all right. It was a round room made out of gloomy looking gray bricks, with thirteen flaming torches hanging on rings on the wall. He rather thought that the several torture weapons- thumbscrews, a rope with spikes on it, three tall wooden spears, several jagged knives, freshly red (Arasar smelled the distinct smell of ketchup, but the beetle's eyes bulged with terror) and two spoons with sharp edges. Meant to gouge out the eyes, if Arasar wasn't much mistaken. There was a tall stake on the center of the floor.

Arasar was going to enjoy this.

Dropping out the beetle onto the floor, he untransfigured her and pushed her toward the stake. A hand with too many fingers sprouted from the back of it and wrapped itself around her.

"Now." said Arasar, grimly smiling, and picking out a tall spear, and he cleared his throat. He nudged at the crocodile bag still dangling from Skeeter's arm with it, and it fell to the floor in two pieces. He hooked it and swung it up, and it scattered parchment as it did so.

Arasar pulled out two more Quick-Quotes-Quills and they turned to ash again. Giving her a nasty look, he picked up a piece of parchment.

"Oh dear." he said, raising an eyebrow at it. "Hard pressed to keep up with his work and forget about his family history, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Senior, is very frazzled of late... What is the secret behind Sirius Black? You really had several nasty surprises in for me, haven't you? Nosy woman. Oh- you've actually managed to sneak in the Werewolf Capture Unit records. I'm not having that, Miss Skeeter. I'm really not."

He put the spear back and walked toward Skeeter, who was eyeing him apprehensively.

"This is illegal." she said in a high, scared voice.

"And so is being an unregistered Animagus." said Arasar. Come to think of it, he had to report HIS own Animagus form to the Ministry, but he wasn't very keen on doing that. He decided to forget that he had ever thought about it. "Petrificus Totalus. Sorry state, aren't you?" remarked Arasar. Her spectacles were missing several jewels, and her clothes were rumpled, her curls disarranged. He walked a little closer and bent his knees slightly, so he was looking directly into Skeeter's eyes.

He could see her mind behind them, vaguely. He opened his mouth and incantated "Legilimens."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Ah, no pairings, sorry. Can't think of anyone except an OC, and I think it's too late to do that.

Yes. I admit I'm losing inspiration. Badly. It's a fatal streak in my writing- it always sort of trails down and down and stops. Might delete it, actually. It's pathetic.

But on the positive side- YAY! Today, March 10th, is Remus Lupin's birthday! That piece of information stuck in my head somehow and I just remembered..

Chapter 36: Announcement

As you all may know, I've had terrible, awful, horrible, appalling trouble with this fic. Namely- the accursed word- writer's block. But I really can't delete it, because I can't bear to see it go. So I have come up with a brilliant solution which will probably cause you all to groan...

I'm putting this up for adoption.

So, those who think they can take over this fic (Which will be hard, because the sheer horridness of the plot, which some of you will disagree with, but I've had enough of it, quite frankly) can review and say so, and I'll choose one of you. Yes, I know, and I'm really doing it. Don't tell me to think over, because I've thought about it in class, in recess, at lunch, at my hagwun, at my home, and I've finally decided that this is the best thing to do.

ㅡㅡ. 나도 알아... 이건 내 잘못이야...

Chapter 37: Will Post Anyway

Meanwhile, this and the next three chapters were written before I decided that I couldn't stand this story, so I might as well update anyway. The person who takes over (I haven't decided who it will be yet, a lot of you are pretty good) will delete these if she/he doesn't like it, but I might as well satisfy those who still like this story. For unfathomable reasons. Remember, this chapter will be full of mistakes (Grammatical and spelling, both) because I detest this story and can't bear to read it.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Skeeter was frozen, bound by the spell. Arasar, meanwhile, broke through her flimsy shields easily and contemptuously batted away the feeble defenses she had up. Well, she had made an effort. He would give her that.

He glared around at her mind. Instead of files about certain subjects- for instance, an ordinary person's mind mostly had boxes labelled 'History' or 'Social Studies' or 'My favourite TV show'. Not Skeeter. She had names instead of subjects. Arasar grunted as he saw a large ball with HARRY POTTER on it and forced it open, examining it.

"That's it." said Arasar when he discovered she knew his favourite food. And there were 'Possible dates' and a list of names of girls. Arasar tore that up and, with a bit of concentration, exploded the ball. He was NOT having anyone pry into his mind. He considered exploding her mind entirely- but just for a second. He wasn't that cruel.

He took a deep breath.

"I demand that everything concerning me and my friends come out."

There was a rustling silence as all the memories in Skeeter's head stopped drifting slowly. Arasar could feel Skeeter panicking, and trying to push him out of her mind and defend her knowledge. Arasar felt a burst of sudden rage. This woman was a parasite. Her prey was gossip and juicy pieces of dark secrets of other people. And what was she? What did she do to help anyone?

Boxes of knowledge labelled things like SIRIUS BLACK, REMUS LUPIN, RONALD WEASLEY, HERMIONE GRANGER, NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM, RUBEUS HAGRID were slowly rolling toward him.

Arasar immediately blasted the one named SIRIUS BLACK. He sifted through the stuff in REMUS LUPIN. Most of them concerned his lycanthropy, but Arasar was relieved to see that Skeeter hadn't printed anything yet. He simply exploded RONALD WEASLEY without looking into it, and stirred the knowledge in HERMIONE GRANGER before exploding that too, feeling quite annoyed. Granger belonged on the list of 'Possible dates'. He rolled RUBEUS HAGRID toward him and saw that she hadn't gathered much dark secrets from his past, but exploded it too, all the same

Skeeter redoubled her efforts to keep him out, lashing out furiously for someone who hadn't much experience in Occlumency. Ignoring her, Arasar calmly exploded NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM and left her mind.

"You're a nosy woman, aren't you?" he said softly, dangerously. All his surpressed temper at the Slytherins, the Tournament, the whole Champion thing and Ron had broken free.

His yet not matured magic rattled the daggers on the wall. He noticed this and quashed all the venomous notions, all rather unsaintly, running through his mind. "You've ruined quite a few lives. I was next on line. You're abusing your position, Skeeter. As I said, I'm really not having that."

Arasar thoughtfully tapped his chin, ignoring the fear on Skeeter's face. "You usually get information from your Animagus form. Now that sounds like a pretty suitable condition to me."

"You can't do that." said Skeeter, gaining confidence. "There isn't a spell to get rid of my Animagus form."

Arasar looked sharply at her. "Would you rather I did something else?" he said. Skeeter flinched. "I could take away your magic as easily as I could take away your Animagus form." said Arasar. In truth, he really didn't have much idea about this, but the growing horror on her face made up for that. Closing his eyes again, he dove into Skeeter's mind, found the subconscious, which wasn't something any Legilimens could do, and found her magical core, closely intertwined with her beetle form. Vicious wrenching it away, he exploded the beetle and watched the pieces rain down in some satisfaction.

Skeeter knew what he had done as soon as Arasar came out. She flinched.

"You can't DO this!" she said. "I'm press charges-"

"For what?" said Arasar. "For taking away your Animagus form, something that is technically impossible? I might remind you that it is very illegal to be an unregistered Animagi. A fine of... what? Two thousand Galleons?" This was a bit of an overstatement, but Skeeter's face paled.

"Any way, you won't be remembering any of this." said Arasar, placing his wand on her temple. "Obliviate."

Skeeter's face turned dreamy before Arasar quickly stunned her. Cheerfully levitating her, under a Disillusioning Charm, he dumped her judiciously in front of the Forest. When she came too, she'd be dazed for a few minutes before remembering who she was. An hour later, maybe, she'd realize what she'd lost. And she couldn't do anything about it.

And Arasar realized his temper was down to almost nothing, since he had taken it out on Skeeter. He skipped the day's lesson that day and spent his time exploring the lake.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Rita Skeeter did a fairly unremarkable article on the four Champions, lacking in detail, rather. Arasar smiled rather grimly as he read it. Although there still were numerous legs that tried to trip him over, especially in Potions, he felt it was bearable.

There was a supervised Hogsmeade visit the next Saturday. Sirius surprised Arasar by unexpectedly turning up, impishly grinning as he told Arasar he was the chaperone for the Gryffindor fourth years. This meant that Arasar was going to have to stick with Dean, Seamus and Ron- and all of them were still pointedly ignoring him. Well, maybe not Dean. He still didn't talk much to Arasar, but Arasar had a feeling he didn't mind that much anymore.

Arasar bought a lot of chocolate to cheer himself up and chose a secluded corner in the Three Broomsticks, which Sirius had confirmed was safe enough. There were emergency Floo systems which would activate at the first sign of trouble. They certainly weren't taking any chances.

Arasar hastily pulled his hood down and pushed his slightly damp hair (It was hot in the Three Broomsticks) out of his face and bent his head over his butterbeer as Rita Skeeter, looking considerably ruffled, came in with the photographer Arasar recognized as the man who had accompanied Skeeter to the Weighing of the Wands. They were obviously looking for him- they looked around, and Arasar pressed himself even more into the shadows the edge of the windows cast, and her gaze passed him.

"Now, this is pretty bloody annoying." he said in the old language, which had become English across a thousand years, and put his chocolate in his pocket and slowly, slowly rose and slid out of the Three Broomsticks. He was going back to Hogwarts early. Sirius wouldn't have approved, going back without supervision and all, but it wasn't like there was going to be anything dangerous.

He absently put on his disguise as he went back. He had worked quite hard on it- it was a sort of hybrid between himself, Professor Lupin, and Sirius. It had Sirius' gray eyes and Lupin's hair, and his face structure was his mother's. He was wearing Hufflepuff colors. People often glanced at him, as if to say 'do I know him? He looks familiar', and turned away again when they saw he was a nobody.

Plus, they were wearing badges.

SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY, THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION. Which also turned to

POTTER STINKS.

Apparently a Slytherin fourth year named Pansy Parkinson had designed them. Arasar had some precious hours mysteriously disappearing when they tried to corner him in an empty classroom where he practiced spells and warding. This was rather thanks to his Invisibility Cloack, which he was now developing a real fondness for. Even he hadn't found a way to Apparate inside Hogwarts, though he hoped that he could when he became a Phoenix.

If he became a Phoenix. He couldn't even become a black panther still, even though he could turn into dolphin with ease.

The first task was approaching slowly, and Arasar was almost getting impatient. If he was stuck in it, he wanted it to get it over with quickly. It seemed that time disagreed with him and was determined to draw it out as long as possible for him.

"I heard Hagrid was looking for you." was what Hermione Granger said when she came back from Hogsmeade. "Professor Moody and Hagrid didn't seem very pleased when they heard you went back by yourself. It's dangerous."

"Indeed." said Arasar dryly.

Moody indeed seemed to want to talk with him. After class on Monday, six days before the First Task, Moody beckoned to him to stay behind after the bell rang.

"Yes, sir?" said Arasar.

"Sit down." said Moody brusquely. "I want to talk to you."

Arasar sat.

"Now, look, laddie." said Moody. "I'm guessing that you planned to make a total hash of your First Task, thus disqualifying yourself and stop participating in the Tournament?"

Arasar nodded.

"I suggest you don't." said Moody, clunking to his desk, sitting down, folding his hands together and fixing Arasar with a piercing stare. "For your own safety."

"What do you mean?" said Arasar irritably. He wasn't very convinced about doing well in the Tournament would be beneficial for him, but all he wanted to do, really, was avoid being beheaded and escape too much scrutiny. Unhappily he wondered why it couldn't be simple, like he wanted it to be. Why couldn't he just... set off to kill Voldemort? Leave everything behind him.

Simple. He was bound to the school for another year. While Voldemort gained power.

After that, he would go after him.

He just didn't know what obstacles awaited him.

"Anyways." said Moody. "I'd better warn you, boy. Want to take a walk?"

Arasar saw nothing wrong with it, though he suspected there was a lot more going on then he could see on the surface. Jerking his head in wary acceptance, he rose.

They made an odd pair. A scarred, limping man with a madly rotating eye and a boy with a stance that was oddly similar to an expert gymast's. Students raised their eyebrows at them. They passed Ron, who stared at them with a strange expression on his face. Arasar pretended not to see him.

It was a clear sort of day, the kind that could be rarely seen in winter. Strong sunlight blazed onto the ground. Students milled around, and Arasar could see Viktor Krum standing some distance away from Hermione Granger, who was sitting under a tree while intently glaring at her History notes.

"All right, lad." Moody growled when they were out of earshot. They walked on the outline of the forest. "You're not stupid. Of course you know something fishy is going on. But the probem is, what is it?"

Arasar stayed silent, keeping half of his sense alert for trouble on the grounds. The three attempts Voldemort had made on his life had made him rather wary. "They must eventually seek to kill me." he said at last. "But how, I do not know."

"Exactly." said Moody. "There are thousands of possibilities. Be alert. The Tasks are dangerous, in case you haven't been listening to Dumbledore. You get them, or they get you."

Arasar tilted his head up at Moody.

"That sound..." he said uneasily.

Moody stared at him. Was it his imagination, or had the briefest trace of annoyance and disbelief crossed Moody's face?

"I heard nothing." he said brusquely. He continued his uneven pace.

"So, sir." said Arasar. "What is your point?"

The sound he had heard earlier- an oddly muffled sound- sounded again. But Arasar felt it, instead of hearing it, felt it. As a sort of vibration against his skin. He was so used to it that he had forgotten other people couldn't hear it- bizarre, really.

"Your attitude." said Moody. "Disturbs me. If you keep on going like this, I won't have a student to teach Battle Magics to any more. Be careful."

Arasar felt annoyed at this. It was it? What Moody wanted to say? Be bloody care-

What the heck-

Arasar whistled.

Dragons.

They were covered by a mild illusion spell, which was no doubt mean to be reinforced later, as it was weak. Arasar easily saw through it. The roars were muffled by a silencing charm. There was a conjured fence about twice the height of Arasar, and Arasar could see a blast of fire unleashed on the blue skies.

Almost like a muggle movie.

And disbelief struck him after amazement set in and disappeared. What were dragons doing here, of all places? Unless-

Moody blinked.

"Oh, now." he drawled. "I wasn't expecting them to arrive this soon..."

Arasar rounded up on him.

"Come clean, Professor Moody." he said. "Why did you want to show me this?"

Moody let pretenses fall.

"I was given the task of protecting you to the best of my abilities." said Moody. "Dumbledore has been keeping a closer eye on you than you may think."

Arasar said nothing.

"And I see nothing wrong with being prepared." said Moody . "The First Task will concern dragons, as I see you've already figured out. They will be guarding golden eggs. It will be your job to retrieve them."

Arasar let out a long sigh between his teeth. At least he knew now.

And it didn't make him feel any better.

"Fine." he said. "I'll participate in it to the best of my abilities. On one condition."

Moody eyed him suspiciously.

"What?" he said guardedly.

"I can tell one person." he said. "Just one."

Moody grinned.

"Done." he said. "Had a noble streak in you, did you?"

Arasar merely frowned. He was not going to be, as Moody put it, 'noble'. That sounded like the sort of sentimental word that Lockhart would use a lot.

"Thanks, Professor." he said reluctantly. "I'll... just be going, shall I." he added as he left.

"Oh, and don't feel to guilty about it." Moody called after him. "Maxime and Karkaroff already know. Nosy gits, the lot of them. I'll bet my eye that they've told their Champions."

Cedric, Arasar thought. Cedric has to know this. Otherwise he'll be toast.

Literally.

Typically enough, he didn't see Cedric at all that day. Resigned to catching him at breakfast the next day, he went to the Room of Requirement to take a bath in a tub that rather resembled a large swimming pool. With water that was enchanted to stay warm. Needless to say, he accidently fell asleep in it. When he awoke, it was well past midnight and he had severe wrinkles all over his hands.

He slept well that night, now the first task was a something he knew about and not some unknown fear. He was actually very surprised to find out he had been afraid all along.

Very slightly.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

By the way, what the heck does MPREG mean?

Chapter 38: Solution

How EXACTLY do you give a story to someone else? Do you give him/her permission to copy all the chapters and publish it, or does the new author just continue from where I quit? And then do you delete the original story? Or do you leave it so that the reader can get to the end and find 'Will be continued by ?'

Ah, well. Some of you think this is still a brilliant story, wiser readers know that the plot was going downhill fast. Anyway, I'll wait about a week before I decide the next author (Sweetsummerx is my first candidate, and if no one better turns up, I'll give it to her and offer my services as a beta, if she'll have me) and yes, of course I'll tell everyone who wants to continue reading this wimp of a story who the next author is.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Arasar managed to find Cedric at breakfast the next day. The three other Hufflepuffs with him were pointedly ignoring Arasar. All of them were wearing the thrice-accursed badges, and Arasar had to summon up all his willpower to quash his pride to walk toward them.

"Cedric." he addressed the other Champion.

"Arasar." said Cedric, throwing a quick, warning look at the other three, who were all glaring at Arasar. "Uh- yeah?"

"I need to talk to you." Arasar said without much preamble. "Without your bodyguards." he added, tossing a glance at Cedric's friends, who had half-risen as Cedric had stood up.

"Stay here." said Cedric.

"You can trust me." said Arasar, giving them a leer. "It's not like I'm Slytherin or something."

Cedric and Harry walked out from the Great Hall, and Cedric's friends' suspicious glares burned into the doors after they had slammed shut.

"So." said Cedric. "What d'you want to say?"

"The First Task." said Arasar. "It's dragons."

Diggory hadn't expected that. He almost fell over in shock.

"Wha-what?" he stammered, his gray eyes going wide.

"Dragons." said Arasar. "They're each guarding one golden egg that we have to retrieve in some way."

"This is against the rules." said Cedric, sounding appalled.

"Would you really rather be burned to the bone and eaten?" said Arasar incredulously. He pulled out his wand. "I could Obliviate you if you like."

"Oh, no thanks." said Cedric hastily.

"The other Champions already know." said Arasar. "If I'm guessing correctly. We all have the same advantage."

"You're only a fourth year." Cedric pointed out.

"It won't stop me." said Arasar.

Cedric just shook his head in wonder. "How- how did you find out, anyway?" he said quickly.

"Trade secret." said Arasar. "Never you mind. Just be careful. I don't want to feel responsible when your brains are all splattered over the Hogwarts grounds."

Ignoring Cedric's indignant 'hey!' Arasar gave him a sardonic smile and walked out of the castle.

Dragons, dragons, dragons... the First Task was now a little less than a week away. Arasar ignored the frosty air and swung himself up into a tall tree and slipped into his own mind.

His mind was in the normal labyrinthic defense mode. He walked outside to examine his Occlumency and frowned at what he saw.

His tall walls were cracked. The traps he had so cunningly inserted around his barriers hadn't caught any intruder. Whoever had done it was a skilled Legilimens. He spent an hour thinking about it and reaquainting himself in his mind and smiling at the eccentricities he'd had when he was young. When he came out, he had a fair hunch about how exactly the suspect had attacked him.

After spending an hour or so on repairing his walls, Arasar spent the rest of Saturday morning under his Invisibility Cloak, researching dragons. Though Dumbledore was an expert of them- he was the one who had discovered the twelves uses of dragon's blood, after all- Arasar saw nothing wrong with knowing some more. Though he found nothing on how exactly not to kill a dragon while getting an egg the dragon believed to be her own. Dragons were fiercely protective of their eggs.

And if it was hatching time, he couldn't even reason with them in Dragonese, or Parseltongue, as they called the gift of speaking to certain reptiles these days. Snakes and occasionally lizards. And dragons, of course.

"Why can't anything be simple?" he said, chucking a book at the wall and summoning it back at the last moment. Several Ravenclaws sitting nearby turned around nervously to peer at the disembodied voice that had been cursing fluently for some two hours. Arasar made a face at them and continued reading.

Cedric started making daily visits to the library too, and hovered unsubtly near the section marked 'Dragons', as if the library would just recommend him something. Arasar had several ideas of what he could do to the dragon, but so far he hadn't any luck in deciding which one, since they all had flaws.

The first one, of course, was trying to reason with the dragon in her own language. Out of question, but Arasar wanted to make sure all the possibilities were there all the same. The second was attacking the dragon. Also out of question. Though Arasar could probably take it down if he wanted to, it would be long and messy and it would lose him points if he killed a valuable dragon. Putting it to sleep? Hypnotizing it? Distracting it?

Dragons would take any approach as an attack. He could create illusions of himself to distract it.

Or he could just summon the egg.

He groaned at the thought. Was he stupid? Plus, the egg was gold. Gold, like silver, was notoriously hard to summon or anything with magic. He really had to practice with silver, he thought, drifting off from his original problem with some relief. He would have a disadvantage when he was tied up in silver or gold without his wand. Maybe he could practice... he could ask Dumbledore...

Right. He had to see Dumbledore.

All his uncertainty, his unease about the breaking of his Occlumency walls and the First Task and the whole Tournament, his life, the Prophecy and Voldemort overwhelmed him. The dam that he had built to hold it all back shattered, and he found himself clutching the limp book in his hands with no idea what to do and just simple despair and hopelessness filling him to the brim like too much homework.

That was it. He was going to see Dumbledore. Although Sirius would have been inclined to listen more sympathetically, Arasar knew that it was Dumbledore he needed to go for advice about his Occlumency.

Halfway to Dumbledore's office, Arasar calmed down. It wasn't going to do much good to go ranting to someone who had his own responsibilities. All he was going to do was tell Dumbledore about his Occlumency. Simple.

He glared at the griffin that guarded Dumbledore's office door.

"Let me in." he said.

The griffin didn't move.

Arasar's temper, which had been sated by Skeeter only temporarily, rose. He said some extremely foul swearwords to the griffin and proceeded to tell it exactly what he thought about it and the whole world. He was immensely enjoying himself when he got into stride when he realized there was a rather unnatural silence behind him. He turned around.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Maxime, Karkaroff, Crouch and Bagman were all staring at him.

Arasar recovered quickly and gave them an innocent smile.

"Oh, hello, everyone." he said with false cheer.

"Mr Potter," began McGonagall. "Where have you learned such vulgar language?"

Arasar blinked at her.

"The Headmaster did." he said.

"Don't joke, Mr Potter." Crouch snapped.

"Oh, but he did." said Arasar, looking at the Headmaster, who was most uncharacteristically cringing. "Ask him. He won't deny it."

"Anyway." said Bagman brightly. "What are you doing here, Mr Potter?"

"I was looking for the Headmaster." said Arasar, arching his eyebrows at Bagman in a strong imitation of Professor Snape.

"I'll talk to you later, Arasar." said Dumbledore, giving him a quick, piercing glance. "We just needed to pick up some things from my office. I'll be back soon, so you can wait there. Lemon Sherbet."

The griffin leapt to the side and they all marched into the Headmaster's office.

While Dumbledore rummaged around his office, the other judges stood stiffly, and McGonagall gave Arasar a quizzical look. Arasar gave her a bland smile.

When Dumbledore and the others left, Arasar sat down on a chair and contemplated his life. Dumbledore's office was a nice place to contemplate your life and wallow in self pity,

Arasar decided. The chair was the soft, fluffy sort, and there was a pleasant, droning sleepy atmostphere in the place. All the inhabitants were sleeping, in fact, all the portraits were snoozing.

But... there was an aware presence in the room, one that was eyeing him with amused speculation.

"Fawkes." said Arasar. "Come out."

There was a soft flutter as the phoenix came out from whatever place he was hiding and settled on a perch besides the Headmaster's desk.

"Red and gold, are you?" said Arasar. "I'm a silver and white, but I've not mastered my form yet. Red and gold, though- too fancy and ostentatious for my liking."

The phoenix trilled indignantly.

"Yes it is." said Arasar unrepenantly. "Though I really think that Phoenixes are magnificent." he said. "I'm glad I'm one."

He stared outside at the peaceful scenery outside the Headmaster's office absently, glad to stop thinking for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, a few minutes was all he got. Dumbledore came in after fifteen minutes.

"Now, Arasar." he said. "What do you need to talk to me about?"

"Someone's been attacking my mind." said Arasar. "My Occlumency walls are almost shattered. I didn't even notice."

"Yes." said Dumbledore musingly. "You wouldn't. I've read about how the Mind Arts were used a thousand years ago..."

"Yes, I admit they're a bit risky." said Arasar irritably. "But they work, all the same. I'll check up on them from now on."

"Well." said Dumbledore, sitting down. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Yes." said Arasar. "Not many are proficient enough to avoid all the traps I have around my barriers. I'm thinking Voldemort."

"Voldemort is- must be at least a hundred miles away, Arasar." said Dumbledore. "It can't be."

"I think I know." said Arasar, raising his fringe.

Dumbledore stared at his scar, which stayed hidden by Arasar's untidy bangs for about 90 percent of the time. Cogs whirred in his head and it took him two point one five seconds to figure it out.

"The connection..." he said musingly. "You know, I never thought about that! It's logical, I suppose. How strong is your Occlumency?"

"Uh." said Arasar. Azar had been a master, and Arasar was only second to him. "I'm okay."

Dumbledore smiled. "Do you know how long he has been trying to..."

"I'm guessing..." Arasar frowned. "Is he very good at Legilimency?"

"Excellent." said Dumbledore wearily. "I should know."

"If the long-distance thing hampered him," Arasar said slowly, calculating. "By the looks of the damage done, I would say that he's tried to do it since the end of my third year."

"That would be about the time when Remus..." Dumbledore sighed. "Ah, I should have anticipated this."

Arasar didn't say anything about self-blaming old men with ostentatious beards and simply scowled at the ceiling.

"Can I wham him through my connection?" he said. "I can do it, you know." he added as he saw the glint in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Best keep secret of your abilities, Arasar." he said.

"He knows them already." said Arasar broodingly.

"He doesn't know if I don't know." said Dumbledore rebukingly. "I'm still trying to figure out how you do all these things..."

Arasar smiled. No one knew of his rather unusual inheritance from the Founders.

"Fly without a broom, you mean?" he said cheerfully. "Oh, that's an ancient secret over a thousand years old."

"Very well, then." said Dumbledore, sounding resigned to not knowing any of Arasar's secrets. "Have it your own way. Since Voldemort already knows of your formidable Occlumency, just concentrate on keeping him out. And don't do anything irresponsible."

"You mean, don't sneak into his mind through the connection and rummage through the information he has stuffed up there?" suggested Arasar.

Dumbledore's mouth twitched, but his eyes remained grave and thoughtful. "It would be useful." he said absently. "Don't do anything reckless, Arasar."

Arasar turned to go, but turned his head before he went out. "Do you really have people watching me?" he asked suspiciously.

"You're safety is essential to the war, Arasar." said Dumbledore. "You know that."

"I know." said Arasar. "Stupid prophecy. But don't you trust me to take care of myself?"

Dumbledore smiled at him. "It is the aged ones' tendecy to not trust the young ones to be safe." he said. "Do not think I am underestimating you, Arasar. But it is all for the best."

"If it's all for the best, why am I in this Tournament, anyway?" Arasar said.

"We're doing all we can to keep it from being sabotaged, as you might have guessed." said Dumbledore. "Alastor is being a great asset in this. His eye, as you know..."

Arasar rolled his eyes and exited.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Krum, Delacour and Cedric all started visiting the library. Cedric took this as an affirmation that they knew about the First Task and started researching dragons with more conviction. Hufflepuff, after all, liked to play fair.

Arasar by now knew everything there was to know about dragons, but he kept coming up with a blank when he tried to think about what to do. He asked the Founders for help, but Helga intervened before the others could say anything and told Arasar that Prophecy or no, he was to play fair because he had an advantage anyway.

Arasar hadn't known that his imagination had been so limited. Every time he got an idea, he found at least two fatal flaws and shot it down.

I hate this, he thought. He envied Ron for having nothing to do, even though he was always moaning about homework. Arasar, on the other hand, finished homework because he had nothing else to do. The rest of the time was spent in the lake, trying to figure out what to do, or in the Room of Requirement, talking to his former guardians.

"Why don't you just hypnotize it?" Azar wrote to him. "I taught you that."

"I'm not very good at it, and the most I can do is lizards, remember?" replied Arasar snappily. He didn't like being reminded of things he didn't do very well. "The best one is burrowing into the ground... I can do that... and into the nest, steal the egg, scurry out to victory."

"Not going to work." said Row. "It took Helga two years to master the fine art of burrowing."

"You can do it through the air." suggested Drick. "Are you stupid?"

"But I haven't really mastered airwalking yet." said Arasar. "And besides, I can't run fast enough to dodge fire."

"Huh. Can't your wards-"

"It's not wise to let anyone see them and know I have extra protections around me. Dumbledore's going to enough trouble to make sure that everyone thinks the security around me is lax."

"Well, isn't it?"

Arasar smiled evilly.

"Do you really think so? When my chief protector is myself?"

"Good point." said Row grudgingly.

"You'll find a way." said Drick. Arasar could practically see his unconvinced, gloomy face through the pages. "Somehow. You won't die, anyway."

"Is that supposed to reassure me?" asked Arasar.

But Arasar finally got a perfect idea when he was going to sleep, two days before the First Task. He was dozing off to sleep when he caught sight of his pale broomstick leaning against the wall. He hadn't flown for months- he had been too busy. Animagus transformations, ancient Tournaments, dragon-involved tasks...

He went to sleep smiling.

He was panicked the next morning when he leapt out of bed, energized by the thought that he had finally found a solution, and found out he didn't remember what the solution had been at all. He wondered if it had been a dream and resigned himself to thinking up senseless ideas for the next two days when he glanced at the broom.

After going through classes impatiently, almost managing not to mind the badges flashing insultingly at him, he dashed out of the castle and took off.

He had forgotten how wonderful it was to be flying. As always, he left all his troubles behind him on the ground and lost himself in the bliss of weightlessness.

But, as he soon found out, he was still rusty. Panicked, he set himself to perfecting the moves he had forgotten over the last few months.

After hanging upside down from his broom for ten minutes, he righted himself and his face went cold, and then warm again as the blood rushed out and started circulating normally. Brooms. Flying. Marvelous. He soared above the Forbidden Forest, savoring the feeling of the wind on his face. How could he have forgotten?

He flew until he couldn't feel his fingers, numbly trembling on the handle of his broom. Turning a few loops, he reluctantly glided down to the ground.

The First Task was going to be a piece of cake.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

MPREG is officially on my list of fics to avoid if it's mentioned in the summary. As Khadon so accurately described it...

Eh, never mind.

Chapter 39: The First Task

Confidence lent him the power to ignore the stares and the badges for the next two day. He went about vaguely in his studies, annoying Snape and McGonagall when he blew up his latest potion or mangled the new spell he was learning and managed to give his mouse green and red stripes. Flitwick bore it with immense patience when Arasar somehow turned everyone's hair into a brilliant shade of emerald and scarlet- which might or might not have been intentional, since it was a Slytherin-Gryffindor class and Pansy Parkinson was being a witch with a capital B.

He was even able to sleep soundly the night before the First Task. When he woke up, it was late in the morning and he placed his broom by his window and opened it so it would have an easier time coming when he summoned it, and then he went down to breakfast, ignoring the small butterflies of anticipation, not nervousness, in his stomach.

Cedric was looking nervous, and Arasar felt acutely sorry for him. He got nerves before a Quidditch match, but he never got them when he knew he would win- a feeling he often got when he was about to duel with an obvious incompetent opponent- not that he'd ever call a dragon incompetent, but he knew that he could do it. There was no real risk of him dying, and he had no reason to want to win, so technically, he had nothing, really, to lose...

He really wondered why Ron and the others envied him for being in the Tournament. If he were them, he would want a chance to concentrate on the exams- the prospect of fighting a dragon didn't do much for your studying. In fact, he would infinitely prefer the exams to this- well, perhaps he would prefer the Tournament if he were a normal wizard- a normal seventeen year old wizard, since it would mean that was little chance of something fishy going on beneath all the events.

And Arasar wondered if he would live to see that age.

He dismissed that thought immediately. He had no intention of dying anytime soon, but then he was reminded of the fact that all soldiers thought that before being unluckily KILLED. He had to stay on his toes. That's what people all though before a dodgeball match and then died. Only this time there would be no rematch.

As Moody would have said, Constant Vigilance.

He had just about enough time to strengthen his wards against fire when McGonagall appeared.

"Mr Diggory, Mr Potter..." she said. "Please follow me."

Arasar rose, ignoring the furtive glance that Ron threw him. Cedric stood up as well, his handsome face going ashen. They both walked toward McGonagall.

"I can only say to you two words- 'Be careful'." she said grimly as she led them both out of the castle, in the direction Arasar knew the dragons were.

Arasar threw Cedric a look as if to say 'I told you so. You should have believed me.'

Cedric was an unusual yellow color as he slid into a tent that McGonagall pointed at. Krum and Delacour were already there, and they all sat down on the benches at the edges. Arasar fingered his wand. Among all of them, he thought, he probably looked the most calm. Delacour was fidgeting, and Krum looked even sulkier than usual. Diggory was yellow.  
"Oh, all of them are here!" said a jolly voice. Bagman strode in, holding a large sack. "Good, good. I hope all of you are ready?"

Krum gave a grunt. Delacour nodded. Cedric gave a small moan. Bagman looked at Arasar inquiringly.

Arasar raised his eyebrows at him sarcastically.

"Well-" said Bagman, looking flustered. "This sack holds a miniature model of the thing you will be facing- your task is to collect the golden egg!"

He looked around as if expecting to see them looking confused. He blinked once when he saw all of them looking unsurprised- perhaps paler, but still unsurprised. "Well,  
you all choose one. Miss Delacour first."

He handed the sack toward her. Fleur Delacour stood up to plunge her arm into the sack- somehow managing to look graceful while she did so- and took out a miniature model of a dragon. It spat fire at Delacour, and she stared at the tiny piece of flame that disappeared before it touched her skin.

"The Welsh Green!" said Bagman enthusiastically. Arasar decided that he hated him. "Ah, good, good. Mr Krum?"

Krum picked the Chinese Fireball. It roared soundlessly at him and shuffled around, flicking it's tail haughtily. He stared at it for a while, his face betraying nothing, and then he sat down again.

"Mr Diggory?"

Cedric picked the bluish colored Swedish Short-Snout. That left-

Arasar picked up the Hungarian Horntail model by the tail and swung it around.

"Well, you've each pulled out your dragons!" said Bagman, grinning at them. "The numbers around their necks tell you the order you will face the real ones. And- ah- Harry? Can I have a word?"

Arasar considered saying no, but stood up and followed him outside.

"Well, have you got a plan?" said Bagman. "Because if you don't, I don't mind giving you some pointers- I mean, you've come from the past and all, and you might be a little behind-"

"No thanks." said Arasar coolly. What did Bagman think, that he was incompetent? Well, maybe he couldn't blame him, but it still galled him. He wasn't- well, he supposed he was, but he still didn't like being treated like a child. "I'd like my marks to be fair."

"Oh-" started Bagman, looking rather let down. "Ah- well, do your best, won't you?" he hurried away toward the noisy crowd.

"Typical." said Arasar disgustedly. "Why is my life like this?" he walked back into the tent. "Honestly, this Tournament..."

"It eez an honor." said Delacour half-heartedly.

Arasar stopped himself from telling Delacour to shut up and settled for bouncing the unhappy dragon model on his hand. It had the number '4' around it's neck, he saw now.

Typical, again, typical. He was the last one. "Yes, of course it's an honor." he said. "It's a very glorious thing to be burnt to crisp and then chewed until we're little more than mangled, burnt, blackened, bleeding cadavers- yes, of course it is."

Delacour looked pale and yellow by the time Arasar was finished with his recitation.

"I'm sure you'll do fine." said Arasar, taking mercy on her. He laced his fingers and put his chin on them, thinking. He could summon the broom- it was less than two hundred meters away. He could do three times as much as that, especially with his enhanced magic. But what if it didn't work? He was suddenly worried...

Nerves. Just nerves. Nothing, absolutely nothing to worry about...

There was more at stake here than his life.

There was a loud blast of sound from the outside. Cedric stood up, his face pale. His hands shone with sweat as he went out, clutching his wand so tightly his knuckles shone white.

There was another bout of cheering, with booing mixed. Cedric must have emerged. There was an eerie, hushed, sudden silence and the sudden, furious roar of a dragon. Arasar could half-hear words through it's rage- 'Tricks! False! Magic FAKE!' and more fire-fury.

"Clever piece of Transfiguration there!" Arasar heard Bagman's voice rise above even the shouts of the crowd. "Pity it didn't work- oh, he dodges! Good shield- Yes, he's-"

The last words were drowned out by an even louder roar from the crowd. Cedric had gotten the egg.

"Very good!" said Bagman when the shouts had died down again slightly. "And now, for the marks!"

There was another silence. Arasar presumed the marks must have been shown on a board or something.

And there was another blast of the horn.

Fleur Delacour rose and strode out of the tent.

There was another silence and Arasar could feel something in the air- but it wasn't directed at him. It was a sleep-charm- hypnotism, almost, but not quite. And then there was a whooshing sound, and some screaming, and Fleur's voice saying through the din, panicked, "Aguamenti!" And two seconds later, the crowd erupted again.

Krum got up and was halfway out of the tent before the horn blew.

He could hear the dragon screaming again- a different dragon, this time, roaring at the sight of Krum. It had seen the others being stolen from, and it was not going to let its eggs be stolen too, not without a fight. "Eggstealers! Hatchling-killers- I WILL NOT STAND FOR-" and then the words drained out as the dragon roar changed into a roar of pain. There was a sound like thunder booming and some shattering sounds.

"YES, HE'S GOT THE EGG!"

Arasar stood up and strode outside, taking his wand out.

There were more boos than cheers when he came out, but he ignored them. He'd see what tune they'd be singing when he was over.

"Accio Firebolt!" he said, swishing his wand for show. "Calm down." he added, this time in Parseltongue.

As he had expected, the dragon was too scared and furious to listen, but she did understand. "Thief." she said at him, voice half-roar, half-hiss. "Eggstealer. Will kill you."

"Yes, very good." said Arasar. There was a whistling sound as his broom flew at him from his right. "One of your eggs are false. Think about that."

Before the dragon could think, Arasar mounted his broom and shot up into the sky. The crowd gasped as one. The dragon shot some fire at him, but Arasar evaded it and laughed at the sheer easiness of it as he dived down and around the Horntail's neck.

"Irritable BUG!" the Horntail said, and the tail lashed up towards him. Arasar veered to the left and dived again, barely missing the second blast of fire.

"Keep that up and you're going to burn your eggs!" he said up at the dragon. The dragon must have heard, since it arched her neck and blew fire at him so that it hit the ground as

Arasar went upwards again. "This is getting bloody repetitive!" he yelled, and leaned forward, urging his broom forward.

The dragon twisted its neck to follow his movements and almost succeeded in burning itself. Arasar swooped to the right and dived down again.

The Horntail nearly tied its neck into a knot. While it untangled itself, Arasar dived down again and grabbed the golden egg. It was heavier than he had expected, and he had to hold it with both hands while he glided toward the opposite end of the field, where the Horntail's fire couldn't get him.

It was as if someone had removed a pair of mufflers from his ears. There was a sudden, deafening sound, and it took Arasar a few seconds to realize it was the crowd, cheering. Hypocrites. He tossed the golden egg up once, and caught it, and strode toward the school again.

He was intercepted by McGonagall.

"Excellent, Harry, excellent!" she said, looking agitated enough to use 'Harry' not 'Potter' or 'Arasar'. "The medical tent is... Oh, you're not hurt at all, I see... well, Bagman's explaining about the egg there, anyway, so you'd best go..."

Arasar found himself marching over to the medical tent somehow.

"Oh, what's wrong with YOU?" said Pomfrey, marching over to him exasperatedly in her white Healer's robes.

"Nothing, Madam Pomfrey." said Arasar. "Professor Cat said Bagman had something to tell us."

"Oh, then." said Pomfrey distractedly, walking back to Cedric, who flashed Arasar a grateful smile. "Don't MOVE! That arm of yours..."

Students were already crowding at the entrance of the medical tent. Some called out to Cedric and Krum- most of them were girls- and a few French students gave Fleur called some quick French to Fleur that Fleur recieved with a bright smile, even though her skirt was smoking.

"Arasar?"

Arasar swiveled his eyeballs into the direction of the voice. He spotted Ron hovering anxiously at the doorframe.

"Weasley." he said. "What are you doing here?"

Ron took a deep breath, aware that Krum was watching him with bored interest. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" said Arasar in a flat voice. "For being a prat, for being a jealous prat, for being a misunderstanding prat, for being an idiot, or just being plain stupid?"

Ron reddened and clenched his hands, but took a deep breath. "All of them." he said.

"Thank you for apologizing, Ronald." said Arasar.

"So I'm forgiven?"

"I never said that." said Arasar. "Quite frankly, forgiveness is earned, not given. In my book, anyway. I'm not a particularly forgiving individual-" this wasn't exactly true, Arasar's temper tended to flare for a short time and die down, but Ron didn't need to know that- "And you'll have to deal with it. If you don't mind, Weasley, this tent is for Champions only and the mediwitch."

Ron indecisively stood on the threshold for a moment and went away. Arasar went and sat down on a spare bed besides Krum, whose robes were nearly half reduced to crisp. But it looked like that was, fortunately, the only thing that had suffered, for he wore a grumpy look, but elation and relief still shone through. He stared at the smooth golden egg in his hands, turning it around and around. There was some kind of recording-spell inside the hinges, but he didn't dare open it- or did he?

Cautiously, he held out a finger and breathed on it, concentrating. One fingernail grew to be an inch-long spike, and he carefully dug it into the crack and eased it gently open.

There instantly was a screeching sound which made Arasar cross his eyes and drop the egg to block his sensitive ears. He yelped with pain as his extra-long fingernail drew blood inside his ear and concentrated again. His fingernail shrank.

Madam Pomfrey came running from where she was rebandaging Cedric's burns. "Stay STILL!" she called back. "Or I'll have to start the whole process over again." she stared at the egg for a second in incomprehension.

"What the HELL is that?" said Cedric's voice from the next tent.

"Language!" said Pomfrey. "Is this yours, Mr Potter?" she yelled over the noise.

As an answer, Arasar made a face and kicked the egg shut. The wailing stopped instantly.

"Mon dieu, zat was horrible." said Fleur, shuddering.

"I agree." said Arasar, nudging the egg again. "I hope-"

But they never heard what Arasar hoped, since Bagman bounced in energetically at the moment.

"Thought I heard a noise!" he said brightly. "I see one of our champions have been very curious!" he added, grinning broadly around, prompting an agreeing grunt from Krum. "As you see, those eggs are the clue to figuring out what the second task is-"

A disbelieving moan escaped from Fleur's lips. Arasar groaned as Cedric entered their tent, half of his robe off. His right shoulder was bandaged.

"THIS is the clue?" he said, holding up his egg.

"Of course, of course." said Bagman, practically shouting with enthusiasm. "Isn't it ingenious? This part is to test your wit and cunning and knowledge."

"I'm not Granger." said Arasar flatly, frowning at his egg.

"And I'm not Rowena Ravenclaw." said Cedric. "Or Salazar Slytherin."

"Could have fooled me." said Arasar, arching an eyebrow at Cedric, who just grinned back. All tension between them had disappeared.

"Well, now you all know." said Bagman. "Harry- could I talk to you?"

Arasar reluctantly picked up the egg and followed Bagman outside.

"That was quite brilliant, Harry!" said Bagman once they were outside. Arasar stared at him as if to say 'Is that all?'. Bagman just smiled at him. "If you need any advice with that egg..." he said. "Well, you just have to ask and I won't mind giving you some pointers- we all want Hogwarts to win, you know-"

"Are you helping Cedric out?" said Arasar. "He seems to be a more likelier candidate for Champion than me-"

"Ah, but we all know that you didn't want to participate." said Bagman. "And you have a disadvantage- why, three years younger! So I don't think it's unfair to give you some advice."

"No thanks, Mr Bagman." said Arasar coolly. "I really don't want it."

"Well, my offer stands if you're worried about the second task." said Bagman doggedly.

"Thanks." said Arasar. "Whatever." he added under his breath as he walked toward the castle.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Ron sat with Arasar at Transfiguration. Arasar thought about pointedly moving to another seat, but decided that it would be childish and stayed, to Ron's obvious relief. For some reason, he flushed slightly while the girls were coming in, but Arasar disregarded it as the fact that McGonagall had glared at him a few seconds ago because his hair was ruffled.

Transfiguration dragged on slowly, and Arasar vaguely wondered what he was doing here, in Hogwarts. It had seemed like a good idea when he had first come here- attend Hogwarts, avoid situation with Voldemort- he had always planned to eventually kill him... But now he was bound to Hogwarts and the stupid Tournament.

Guinea fowls into guinea pigs proved to be easy. Arasar was the first to manage it, closely followed by Hermione Granger. He still wasn't used to using words to channel his magic, and just chanted them as duty.

"Now." said McGonagall once everyone was finished and there was five minutes left before the bell rang. "It is time for me to announce..."

Arasar blanched. Now he had a VERY bad feeling about it.

"The Yule Ball..."

That was so IT. He closed his eyes in dread.

"Is approaching- a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with tout foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above- although you may invite a younger student, if you wish-"

Lavender Brown giggled shrilly. Parvati Patil nudged her in the ribs, she too keeping her face straight with obvious effort. They both looked around at Arasar, and Arasar gave them a dirty look. McGonagall didn't say anything. "Dress robes will be worn." she continued, as if there had been no interruption. Ron was suddenly looking horrified. "And the ball will start at eight o clock on Christmas day and will end at midnight. It will take place at the Great Hall. Now then-"

Dress robes. At least he wasn't being FORCED to attend. That would have been horrible.

"The Yule Ball, is of course a chance for us all- to- er- let our hair down." she said in a disapproving voice. Brown giggled again, and Arasar briefly wondered what McGonagall would look with her hair- usually tied up in that severe bun of hers- all loose and untidy, like his. He couldn't imagine McGonagall with any other hairstyle besides that almost wiglike rigid bun of hers. "But," he added, glaring around at everyone, "That certainly does NOT mean that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way."

The bell rang and Arasar leapt up energetically. What he WOULDN'T do for some fresh air- a Ball? Outrageous.

"Potter- a word, if you please."

Arasar reluctantly let his bag slide out of his hands again onto his desk. "Yes, Professor?" he said. He could see Ron nervously stand at the door. He shot him a cool glare. He ran.

"Potter, the champions and their partners-"

"What partners?" said Arasar quickly.

McGonagall looked at him suspiciously, as if she thought he was trying to be funny.

"Your partners for the Yule Ball, Potter." she said coldly. "Your dance partners."

Arasar felt his inside shrivel up. "I don't dance." he said pathetically. "You can't do this to me! This is- this is child abuse!"

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly, Potter." she said in a condescending voice.

"I don't dance!" Arasar protested feebly, failing to find a wittier refusal.

"Yes you do." said McGonagall, rather unreasonably. "Traditionally, the Champions and their partners open the Ball."

"I'm not dancing." said Arasar.

"It's traditional." McGonagall said firmly.

"I don't care about bloody tradition!" said Arasar. "Ah- can't you Polyjuice someone as me and-"

McGonagall shook her head, a rare amused smile on her face. "Oh, no. No plotting, Mr Potter."

"So..." said Arasar, face turning white. "Now I have to... ask someone out?"

Probably no one had seen Minerve McGonagall with that particular evil smile on her face for several decades. "Precisely, Mr Potter."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Sweetsummerx3, if you're there and alive, please respond. Repeat, Sweetsummerx3, you are now the proud new owner of this story. If you are still alive, you would know that I sent you an email a week or so ago to tell you. Please review to assure me that you will now be taking over this story.

Chapter 40: Sad Farewell

'allo. To those who haven't caught on, this story is now being continued by Sweetsummerx3. To those who still weep and sob and plead me to return to this story (I don't think there will be many of them) I say- your pleas fall on deaf ears. To those who say good riddance (Since I'm an awful writer, sometimes) I agree. And to all of you, I recommend my other story 'Stchorlei' and solemnly swear that I'll never abandon it.

Well... adieu to a story begun with joy and ended with sorrow, as most things are.

And now, back to moi. dyingimmortal. (I refuse to capitalize the d. It looks hideous when it's capitalized. End of discussion.)

So, that's it. Totally unedited version, with all of Amsuhl's authors notes and blahblahblah and everything. Yes, my pen named used to be SweetSummerx3. Pretend that never happened. I was pretty stupid back then. I did a lot of stupid things. Like use the pen name of SweetSummerx3. -facepalm-

So... yeah.

**Vamprisslizy: **Sorry, but no. I don't want to give out my email. Not when it's unnecessary. It's no longer necessary. If you want to read it in email, copy&paste this story into your email and send it to yourself.

**stonegnome1: **This story /is/ discontinued. I'm just reposting it. If you're confused, read the author's notes more thoroughly. Or just read them, if you haven't already. If you still don't get it, too bad. I'm not going to explain it further.

... sorry. I'm not in the best of moods right now.

So, er, the end. Bye, HotF. Bye, fanfiction.


End file.
